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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25867633">Cross the Stars</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMegh/pseuds/MissMegh'>MissMegh</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Anastasia (1997 &amp; Broadway) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Con Artists, Eventual Happy Ending, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:07:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,761</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25867633</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMegh/pseuds/MissMegh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Once there was a prince who lost his family in the stars.</p><p>This is the story of how he found his way back.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Part 1: Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is an Anastasia AU.</p><p>I've been sitting on this for an incredible amount of time, and life with all its plagues (literal and figurative) got in the way of my original plan for this fic. Now that I've been able to poke at it more, I'd like to get it out there so it's not just in my head anymore. It's been a very cathartic AU for me, so I hope you'll enjoy it too.</p><p>Updates are not going to be on a schedule, but they will be in fairly big chunks each time, so please hit that subscribe button if you're anything like me and have too many fics to keep track of.</p><p>Many thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ajaxthegreat/pseuds/Ajaxthegreat">Ajaxthegreat</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf">Arya_Greenleaf</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/El_Bell/pseuds/EllaBesmirched">EllaBesmirched</a>, and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/youdidnotseeme/pseuds/youdidnotseeme">youdidnotseeme</a> for their help and enthusiasm, without which I would have many more errors and far fewer cool bits.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Forget everything you knew.</p><p>Forget about the rise of an Empire, about the ambition of a Sith Lord; the Empire fell only a short time after it was born, and dragged the dying Senate with it. The Sith perished in the fire he tried to stoke, they say, or collapsed into void, or simply disappeared. His plans died with him, leaving a bloody hole in the galaxy.</p><p>Forget the specter of the Empire, the Emperor’s apprentice, who turned from the light for fear. Darth Vader never became; Anakin Skywalker died with his most beloved friend’s blade through his heart. Forget the despair of his final turning. Perhaps, if we forget these things, he will forgive himself more easily.</p><p>Forget Old Ben, wise and regretful, in his self-imposed vigil on desert Tatooine. Obi-Wan Kenobi died soon after Anakin, of his wounds and how he cleaved his own soul in half. Do him a kindness and forgive him his broken heart. He did not live to shepherd Padmé to safety, but he cleared her path to freedom.</p><p>Forget the death of a queen, a senator, a mother; forget any cheap drama of how broken she died. The shock of her severed bond pains her still, but she did not die, did not give up her children, did not fade away when she most needed to survive. Forget anything you have heard about the weakness of women.</p><p>Forget the days of fear and oppression under the boot of the Empire, the galaxy-eating war, the flight of the Rebellion, the terror of the Death Star. There were new fears, new wars, but these were not the ones you have heard. Forget old sorrows, old wounds; there will be new ones, and hopes and joys to go with them. Forget what was not, and listen for what could be.</p><p>Forget everything you knew, and begin the story.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Part 1: Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We begin! This chapter is dedicated to my unending screech of <i>Padmé deserves better</i> and also a little bit to my bf's early SWTTRPG political campaigns. You may see Legends Easter eggs in this fic! That is normal, I can't help myself. If you don't see them, don't worry, it's not going to harm your reading experience.</p><p>Thanks again to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ajaxthegreat/pseuds/Ajaxthegreat">Ajaxthegreat</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf">Arya_Greenleaf</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/El_Bell/pseuds/EllaBesmirched">EllaBesmirched</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/youdidnotseeme/pseuds/youdidnotseeme">youdidnotseeme</a>, and everyone who's cheered me on for this.</p><p>Content warnings here: Tense political situation, implied off-screen crowd violence. Things are going to start earning their rating in the next chapter, so be advised. I will always put a summary of potential triggers in the chapter end notes; if you feel something isn't noted, please let me know so I can adjust it properly.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ben was spinning, laughing, footsteps and giggles echoing off the high ballroom ceiling as the parquetry swirled around his feet. R2-D2 rolled in circles around him, beeps and whistles echoing the boy’s happy squeals.</p><p>He was getting so tall, Padmé thought, watching him play. Last year he had barely been able to see over Artoo’s dome, and now he could hug the droid with his chin resting on the top of its head. He already took up the entirety of her lap, legs gangling to the side even as his arms hugged her tight. Soon he’d be a teenager. Soon he’d grow up. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready for it.</p><p>
  <em> <em>“Your Majesty.”</em> </em>
</p><p>The call for her attention wasn’t quite sharp enough to qualify as a reproach, unless you knew the speaker very well. Padmé had known Rho Dakkan for thirty years, half her lifetime now. Fortunately--well, perhaps--such a length of time allowed a lot more forgiveness. “Apologies.” She turned in a soft swish of beaded skirts, away from the spread of the ballroom floor, from the muted flurry of preparations, from Ben. “My mind was wandering. My grandson is a distraction.”</p><p>Rho’s hard gaze softened slightly over their respirator, an expression Padmé caught only by virtue of their long acquaintance. Kel Dor were not prone to a great deal of emoting, although Padmé had never found Rho any less beleaguerable than her other advisors. “I understand your devotion to your family, Your Majesty. Which is why,” they began, deliberately, to steer the conversation back around, “you cannot and should not open the coronation to the public. It is too dangerous.”</p><p>“I hear you, Captain, and I, too, understand.” If Rho could use titles as admonishment then so could she. This argument had been going on for the past half hour, and off and on for the past several days. “And again, I have to insist. We cannot afford to deny public access. It must happen, if only on the most limited basis. That includes the People’s Reception Parade. I will not show fear right now.”</p><p>“We have afforded it before, and here you still stand. A dose of fear can keep you alive when bravado won’t.” There was that stubborn heel-digging tone, always so useful and exasperating in the past. Rho <em>could</em> see reason, but they were very goal-oriented and not always inclined to take a lot of steps around something when there was a path directly through. Padmé tried to keep her own tone level.</p><p>“I am not telling you I don’t want to do it, I am telling you it’s impossible.”</p><p>“It is <em>not</em> impossible, not when your life is at stake.”</p><p>“My life is always at stake these days. The point of this coronation is to relieve that pressure, which will not happen if we deny access to the bulk of the people who wish to see it.”</p><p>“With all due respect, Your Majesty, that is what holos are for.”</p><p>“It isn’t the same.”</p><p>“Your Majesty--”</p><p>“Rho, please.” Padmé sighed, motioning to her handmaidens, who obediently backed off by several yards. This was for Rho’s benefit, not her own; they never liked speaking frankly to her in front of other people. This way, there would still be a discernible barrier between them and everyone else, and Padmé could talk with reasonable assurance that Rho would drop some of that hidebound nature and listen to what she was saying.</p><p>They followed her out to the balcony easily enough, her handmaidens keeping pace after them. Fine waterspray created iridescent shimmer effects as it hit the protective plasma shield separating the balcony ledge from Theed’s famous waterfalls. Padmé often imagined that the spray lighted on her gown when she came out here, however impossible it was; the air cooling in the water’s wake felt weighted, timeless. Here, she felt like she could pause everything that was happening and examine it piece by piece, even through the deafening roar of the falls.</p><p>Padmé looked out at the sprawl of Theed and, beyond that, the sea. This was still the most beautiful view in the city, she was convinced. Perhaps in the galaxy. Years of travel among the myriad planets and systems had yet to persuade her otherwise. She hadn’t gone past the Mid-Rim edge in more than a decade; perhaps she’d never again see a sight that captured her more than this. It was a disquieting thought, especially since it echoed in her bones with the promise of comfort, of rest.</p><p>“You don’t like politics.” She said it plainly, just a fact. Rho only nodded, not needing to voice the reply. Rho was a soldier, a tactician, and very good at their job, but they were not a politician and preferred to stay that way. Padmé could understand the feeling after more than forty years of politics herself. “But you understand the theory behind a Precedential Ceasefire, yes?”</p><p>Rho nodded, long used to picking up her words over the rush of water. “‘Those who would make their own liberty secure must guard even their enemy from treachery; if they violate that, they will find themselves violated.’ Jaster Mereel, when he fought the Mandalorian war. Not a very civil campaign otherwise, Your Majesty.”</p><p>“No, it wasn’t.” Padmé smiled, though she could tell the expression lacked amusement. “It makes the quote rather more apt, I would say.”</p><p>“Your M--”</p><p>“My people see me as an enemy, Rho.” Blunt was best, though the statement never failed to strike her in the sternum. She had to make sure Rho knew how well she understood, how few illusions she had left. “I have to think of them like a combatant, and I can’t make a move to help them without first considering how they could use it to hurt me. But they deserve consideration, and the respect a general would give their enemy. I will treat them how I would like them to treat me. I cannot afford to do less.”</p><p>She had tried to meet them, with the first royal election in more than thirty years. There had been so much anger and call for change that even the council had not stood behind their fourth ten-year extension plan. There had been accusations of dynastic autarchism for years by then, with the 'populist' Hego Damask howling at the forefront. The people remembered the damage wrought under the tyrant King Veruna, and Damask played on that fear.</p><p>So she had tried to provide reassurance. She had tried, Leia had tried, even Luke, who hated politics and preferred philosophy, had tried. (She ought to have insisted, all those years ago, should have kept the election going even past the protests of the council, but it had still been so unstable, the recession not yet manageable, and the twins had been barely six years old. She had thought, <em> only a little longer. I can still do good and that snake Damask will wreck everything if I let him, surely just a little longer will be all right. </em>)</p><p>(She should have refused when Jamillia begged her to retake the crown.)</p><p>The last election had started with real hope for change, for the chance to drain some of the poison festering in people's minds. Even with the thought that Leia might lose, the opposing candidate had been promising--fiery, eloquent, a fresh face for a new beginning. Then, though, the people's potential favorite had faced accusations of theft, corruption--and, worse, they were true. Padmé had had little choice in the arrest or trial, not with the monarchy at stake. Leia had been the only serious candidate left, and the implications were ugly.</p><p>“Your Majesty.” Rho’s face was, as much as it could ever be, gentle. Regretful, even. “If someone wants to hurt you, then they may not stop until there are no avenues to do so.”</p><p>Padmé smiled again, and it was bitter. She could taste it. “That I cannot hear, Rho, or I will come to hear only the crowd baying for my blood. I cannot lose hope for them now. They need me, if only once more.” They still needed her help, despite what they might say or believe of her. Suspicious and angry and ungrateful as they were, they needed her.</p><p>“Your family needs you too, Your Majesty.” It was a heavy statement, and she stared at Rho for it. They kept a steady gaze, off over her shoulder, as perfect a posture as any soldier could ask. “This will put them at risk as well. You understand the gamble, but the Princess is young, with a new family. You have sheltered them all from much, but you cannot shield them from this.”</p><p>“The Princess is the newly elected leader of your planet,” Padmé said, and she could hear the cutting edge to her words, but this was too far toward insubordination, even for Rho. “She is a Queen of Naboo, not a child to be led. She did not enter this with her eyes closed.” <em> Leia knows. Leia has seen more than I ever wanted her to see, and I cannot regret that, not here. It’s better to know that I have not sent my child to the masses to be slaughtered. Do you think me so cold, Rho? </em></p><p>“I understand, Your Majesty, but there is a difference between training and battle, and she has not yet seen how wrong this could go.” All familiarity was gone; this was Captain Rho, at attention before their commander, arguing for a strategic retreat. One that she could not give. Stars, how had it come to this? “Your Majesty. Please. For the sake of your family--the Princess, the Prince, the Duke, all of them--be more cautious.”</p><p>The words rang in her ears, echoing in the momentary fury of <em> how dare you tell me how to protect my family-- </em></p><p>--but the first thought after that was Ben. Duke Amidala, at all of ten years old, now that her title of dowager had been granted in perpetuity and his mother had taken on the role of Queen. Would the masses see a child when they looked at him, or just another dynastic enemy?</p><p>Could she take that chance?</p><p>Her anger seeped out of her, leaving only her weariness, buried deep in her bones. How, after all these years, did people look at her and see a Queen instead of just a tired old woman longing for more rest than she would ever get? She closed her eyes, breathed, as An--as Obi-Wan had once patiently taught her. Just for a moment.</p><p>When she opened them again, Rho was still stoic and grim, waiting for her decision. She sighed, and placed a hand on their arm. “That was playing dirty,” she told them gently, “but I daresay I deserved it.”</p><p>The tendons beneath her palm relaxed slightly. “I apologize for my enthusiasm, Your Majesty.”</p><p>“You shouldn’t. You wouldn’t be any good at your job if you weren’t willing to butt heads with me every so often.” She indicated the ballroom entrance with her other hand, and Rho obligingly guided her back inside. “I will consult with Leia; it is her coronation, after all. We will discuss what precautions need to be taken, and we will not stop until we have a plan that will account for <em> everyone’s </em>safety.” She raised an eyebrow at Rho, sweeping her skirts around to face them. “Will you respect my decision after that, or shall I have to anticipate you throwing me over your shoulder like a sack of meiloorun?”</p><p>It was very hard to tell when Rho was smiling, but Padmé thought they might be now. They bowed, precisely and without flourish. “I trust your wisdom, my Queen. As always.” It made Padmé laugh, but when Rho straightened there was a somber, almost earnest cast to their dark eyes. Rho wasn’t making light of this, not right now.</p><p>She ignored the tight, warm feeling in her throat and inclined her head in an answering manner. “We’ve discussed all the other arrangements, then. I leave those to your capable hands.” Then, more softly, “Thank you, my friend.”</p><p>Rho paused, then looked Padmé very steadily in the eyes. “My life for yours, Your Majesty.” It was a customary ending to a conversation between a Queen and her guard, but not one Rho used often. And not, hopefully, one that would have to be taken literally this time, Padmé thought as Rho made their way out, leaving only a chill dripping down her spine.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Leia was in her official study, unsurprisingly; Padmé suspected that the only reason she didn’t keep a pillow and blanket on the chaise was that Han kept stealing them so that she would occasionally come back to their suite. It was only mildly irritating in that he’d thought of it before Padmé had.</p><p>She knocked on the open door to get her daughter’s attention, smiling when Leia blinked up at her from the datapad she’d been studying. People always commented on how the Princess was the spitting image of her mother, how regal, how focused; her lovely long brown hair, her beautiful wide dark eyes, her bravery, her poise. Most of this was flattery, as expected to a Queen and Princess, but Padmé had always been convinced, privately, that they damned Leia with faint praise. She had never been so lovely or so fearless as her daughter.</p><p>When Leia smiled, she looked like her father. Like he had been before, when they had been happy.</p><p>“There you are.” Padmé pushed back the bittersweet memories and went to drop a kiss on the crown of Leia’s head. “I think I haven’t spoken more than a few sentences to you in days.”</p><p>“I think Han can say the same, actually.” The words were sheepish, but Leia just stretched her arms in front of her, tilting her chin back and closing her eyes. Not yet thirty-five, but all those aches caught up far too quickly. Padmé remembered. “If I have my way I might spend the entire first day of my rule asleep in bed. Wouldn’t that be a story for the holonet.”</p><p>“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Padmé teased, easing into a cushioned chair next to the desk. “If I had to rely on observation alone, I’d say you haven’t slept in a year.”</p><p>“It feels like that,” Leia conceded, turning in her chair and propping her head on one hand. It was so rare to have her full attention these days; Padmé took a moment to treasure it. After this, she knew, such moments would be even rarer. The throne was never a resting place, or so the saying went. She almost wished that she’d persuaded Leia not to run for the crown.</p><p>Leia tilted her head, one braid falling over her shoulder. Her eyes were so steady, as if she could see Padmé’s thoughts. Sometimes (very quietly, to herself only) Padmé admitted that it was possible she did, a little. Most people didn’t know how very much her father’s daughter she was, and no one could possibly have guessed what other qualities he might have gifted his children. “I don’t know how you did it,” she said, a little softly, a loop of hair tucked around one finger. “In the beginning, especially. With everything going on.”</p><p>“I didn’t,” Padmé said after a moment, then amended herself in a wry tone. “Well, not by myself. I tried, for a little while. When I first had you and Luke.” She’d been all of twenty-three and desperate to pretend that everything wasn’t dying in flames, that half her soul had not been ripped away, that she could shoulder everything and not collapse. That she hadn’t been collapsing every day. She shrugged; the memories were simply proof that she had survived, now that more than thirty years had gone. “Everyone was in mourning, and I thought I had to be even more immaculate, to be strong for all of them.” She leveled a pointed look at Leia, who twisted her mouth in a way that said she knew exactly what that look was for, and wasn’t going to comment on it just now. Padmé relented after a moment, continuing in a softer cadence. “I forgot that I was in mourning, too, and that even when there were things I had to do, I didn't have to do them without any support.”</p><p>“I remember the first time I read about the war,” Leia said eventually, her eyes a little distant. “Really read about it, facts and numbers, not just bits from the legends or your stories. What people wrote down after the fact. How much was lost.”</p><p>“It was a lot to take in,” Padmé admitted. “I think I tried to spare you that, when you were younger. And perhaps myself. It was sometimes easier to try to forget everything that happened.”</p><p>“Like my father.” Padmé glanced up sharply, but Leia’s face was too smooth for her to tell quite what she was thinking.</p><p>“Yes,” she said finally. “Like that.”</p><p>She could feel the question in the air, had known it was on Leia’s mind for decades, but it was the one question she would not answer. Leia and Luke were better off not knowing. And Padmé could at least preserve a small, unsullied piece of Anakin’s heritage in her children.</p><p>Small footsteps scampered outside the door moments before a bundle of giggles and rumpled clothing tumbled into the room and Leia’s lap. Leia laughed, barely managing to catch Ben before he rolled completely to the floor. Ben’s tousled curls dangled against Leia’s skirts, shaking with his squirms and laughter.</p><p>“Hide me,” he pleaded, making no effort to either curl into a smaller bundle or quiet his giggling.</p><p>“Oh, hide you, I see. What am I hiding you for now, you little maniac?” Leia hoisted his legs further into her arms, running her fingers through his hair and then tapping him on the nose. He squeaked and laughed and twisted, only succeeding in upending himself further; he was now nearly completely upside down. “Oof, you are getting too big for this. Let me guess: Threepio wants you to take a bath and go to bed?”</p><p>“Nooooo.” Ben let his arms flop on the floor, still shaking with laughter. Padmé was laughing too, at the shameless play for attention and the obvious glee on Ben’s face. Leia tugged her son back upright, making loud and exaggerated complaints about ‘her poor broken legs’ while she nestled Ben into her arms and laid big smacking kisses on his face. Ben immediately squealed at the ‘baby treatment’, which only encouraged it more, and Padmé laughed and laughed, her cheeks aching from the width of her smile. Leia so rarely had time to play with Ben like this, and for all that he was only ten, her grandson tried to be so grown-up. She worried for him sometimes. Not right now, though. Now there was only warmth.</p><p>“Your Grace! There you are!” C-3PO’s perpetually mortified voice signaled that Ben had been found out, and he tried to curl into a hiding ball much too late. “I am terribly sorry, Your Majesties, it is time for His Grace’s bath and bedt--”</p><p>“That’s all right, Threepio.” Padmé gave Ben a conspiratorial smile as she reassured the droid. “We’ll make sure he keeps to the schedule. Would you please bring up some tea and muja biscuits for us? Orla will know which kind goes best.”</p><p>“Better make that caf for me,” Leia corrected, sighing at her datapad and letting Ben’s legs slide down until he was perched less precariously on her lap. “I don’t think I’ll be finishing this any time soon.”</p><p>“You need rest,” Padmé reproved her, though she nodded to confirm the request to Threepio. “It won’t do you any good to look and feel half-dead at your own coronation.”</p><p>“I still have a few days,” Leia shot back, though it had the feel of a rather lame justification. “The more work I get done now, the more rest I’ll get later.”</p><p>Padmé gave her a flat look. She recognized that argument; it was one she’d used far too often on herself. Leia just raised her eyebrows.</p><p>“There’s gonna be cake at the coronation, right, Mama?” Ben let his head loll on Leia’s shoulder, looking up at her with wide brown eyes. He’d inherited them fair and square, and was already using them to unfair advantage. Padmé pitied whatever poor creature tried to keep him away from the cake when the coronation actually arrived. Especially if it was Han. The man hadn’t yet been able to successfully say ‘no’ to his son; he doted on the boy more than every other adult in the Palace, which was a considerable achievement.</p><p>“Three,” Leia confided, nuzzling the tip of Ben’s nose with her own. “Three cakes, and probably a lot of pies and breads and other things. And before that, a lot of boring standing-around to listen to speeches. But if you’re very good during that, you can have my share too.” Ben’s eyes widened with delight at this prospect. “And,” Leia added, “you have to go to bed with no fuss until the day of. Promise?”</p><p>Ben squirmed and made a face like he was thinking of producing a pout, but eventually nodded. “Promise.”</p><p>“Shake on it.” Leia extended her fingers, and Ben obediently squeezed them, then laughed when Leia used it to pull him into another hug.</p><p>“Excellently negotiated, Senators,” Padmé teased, to a grin from Leia and a giggle from Ben. “Where’s my hug, Beni? I feel left out.”</p><p>“I’m not <em> Beni, </em> Grandmama,” Ben protested, though he slithered down from Leia’s lap to latch onto Padmé in turn. “I’m <em> Ben. </em> I’m not a baby. Beni is for <em> babies.” </em></p><p>“Oh, well, goodness, my mistake,” Padmé said as she hugged him back, affecting the sort of posh tone that had always sent her school friends into stitches. “You’re very grown-up, I see. I’ll make sure to remember, <em> Obi-Wan.” </em><em><br/>
</em></p><p>“Noooooooo, Grandmama!” He squirmed in her arms, trying to be offended. It was rather ineffective when his attempt at a pout was that endearing. Especially when she tickled at his ribs and he dissolved into squealing laughter. She relented and pulled him into the chair with her, making room for him to curl up beside her. He really was getting big, but she’d already decided that he’d never be too old for this. Ben threw everything of himself into his hugs, and she never wanted him to lose that.</p><p>“Rho recommended we keep the coronation restricted from the public again,” she told Leia when Ben had settled into her arms. “In strong terms, no less. They make a good argument, but I told them I would talk with you first. You know why this needs to be considered carefully.”</p><p>Leia groaned and rolled her head on her neck. “Unfortunately, I do. How many shields will Rho be commanding at last count?”</p><p>“Eighty, although they…” Padmé caught Ben looking between both of them with entirely too much interest, and reconsidered the wisdom of discussing this particular topic in front of a young child whose safety was directly involved. That was to say nothing of his immediate family; Padmé had gotten her first death threats at thirteen, and even if she didn’t keep track of them these days, there was a special security contingent devoted to receiving and researching threats made against the Royal family, which was really all that needed to be said.</p><p><em> He’s not blind, </em> part of her mind chided as she rephrased her conversation with Rho in vaguer terms to Leia. <em> He might not understand the nuances, but he knows people are afraid. He knows </em> you <em> are afraid. It might not be bad to let him know that these things can be planned for, that they can be defeated. It might help him. </em></p><p>Her fingers stroked through Ben’s hair, the curls draping over her shoulder as his eyelids drifted lower and lower. She didn’t have the heart to pull him into this, not deliberately. <em> Let him have a little more childhood. </em></p><p>He’d lost the fight to keep his eyes from closing three full times by the time Threepio returned with the tea and biscuits. Leia let him have one biscuit, then made to push back her chair. “All right, sweetheart, bedtime.”</p><p>“Noooooooooo.” Ben’s protest was cut short by a massive yawn. Padmé chuckled and propped him gently into a sitting position.</p><p>“You promised no fuss,” Leia reminded him, and he drooped in acquiescence, only grumbling a little.</p><p>“I’ll take him.” Padmé waved Leia back to her desk. “The tea will keep for a little. I’ll come back.”</p><p>“You’re sure?” Leia looked grateful to remain seated, though, and gave Ben one last hug and kiss before relinquishing him to her mother. Ben was sleepy enough to hold Padmé’s hand all the way to his bedroom suite.</p><p>She made sure he scrubbed behind his ears, helped him into his nightclothes, then hoisted him into bed, taking quiet pleasure in the routine. Ben blinked drowsily at her as she tucked him in, not even protesting the stuffed tooka doll she settled in alongside him.</p><p>“Can you read me the story?”</p><p>“The story, mm?” She pretended to think. “Which story do you mean?”</p><p>“The <em> best </em>story.” He gave her big pleading eyes, and she chuckled and relented.</p><p>“All right, the best story.” Padmé took a slim, well-thumbed book--actual leather, actual flimsi, with fancifully gilded binding and a richly illustrated cover--from the bedside table, turning to the desired page with the ease of many repetitions. She’d given this to Ben on his sixth nameday, affectionate inscription and all, and he’d surely read it from cover to cover a hundred times by now. But one story was by far his favorite, and if she were honest, it was her favorite too. If only because he loved it so much.</p><p>She settled into the chair next to his bed, letting him prop himself up to his liking, then began. “Once upon a time, there was a prince who wanted to see the whole world.”</p><p>They both knew all the embellishments, all the dramatic pauses and ominous voices, the clever creatures and the pair of brave heroes destined for each other. It was the kind of fantasy Padmé had loved as a child, too. She still did, really. Especially when she could share it.</p><p>Ben’s eyes were clearer as she read through the climax, when the evil sorcerer cursed the prince to burn forever, a terrifying specter never to know a kind touch again. No matter how many times she read it, he was always swept away in that scene. Even better, though, was the determined maiden who held the prince fast despite her fear, defeating the curse and driving the sorcerer away.</p><p>“...Still she held him, and called him by his name, and did not let him go, no matter how hot it burned. And when the flames had burnt themselves out against her cloak, she still held the prince in her arms.” Padmé let the cadence of the story carry them both to its conclusion, watching Ben’s eyes drift slowly closed with a smile. “Without the curse, he was able to stand, and turn the fire back on the wicked sorcerer, who ran from the flames into the sea. Then they linked their hands, and returned to the prince’s castle, and lived happily ever after.” She let the book fall closed, placing it back on the nightstand, and smoothed her hand over Ben’s forehead.</p><p>Without opening his eyes, he mumbled, “S’the best story.”</p><p>“It is,” Padmé agreed softly. “Do you know why?”</p><p>His eyes peeked open, soft and dark, half buried by the comforter. “Why?”</p><p>“Because no matter what happens to you or what you look like, the people who truly love you will always love you.” She dropped one more kiss on his forehead. “Like I love you.”</p><p>His smile was sleepy-vague and sweet. “I love you too, Grandmama.”</p><p>“Sleep well, my Ben. Goodnight.” She smoothed the covers over him one last time, then let herself quietly out. The tea might still be warm, and perhaps she could persuade Leia to go to sleep a little sooner than she intended.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Ben knew that something was wrong. He wasn’t <em> little, </em> no matter what stupid Poe said. Mama had been a Princess, and now after the election she was a Queen, but there were people in the city that didn’t like that. It was pretty simple. He didn’t need to be a stupid <em> teenager </em>like Poe to figure it out.</p><p>The thing was, there were a lot of things that weren’t simple, because Grandmama was worried too, and she’d been Queen longer than Ben had been alive. He didn’t know precisely why, and she and Mama and Dad always stopped talking about it whenever he came into a room. They’d give each other Looks, which Ben hated, and even their thoughts seemed to shut him out. Even Uncle Luke was worried, and he was the calmest grownup ever. Ben could tell because his skin got prickly every time he came near them, and the echoes of things they weren’t saying would sometimes whisper in his ears.</p><p>There were guards everywhere, too, especially Captain Rho. They were nice most of the time, but busy, and right now they barely even nodded in the hallways when they passed him. Ben didn’t like being ignored, but he was slightly too intimidated to demand Captain Rho’s attention, so mostly he’d go and find Threepio, who would almost always find a reason to chase him around and be Worried at him. Threepio being Worried was a lot more fun than other people being worried.</p><p>Mama’s coronation had been yesterday, and Ben wasn’t sure why he didn’t want to think about it. There had been a lot of standing around and listening to boring speeches, like Mama had said, but it hadn’t been boring. It had been…</p><p>He wasn’t <em> scared. </em>He wasn’t a baby, he was a Prince of Naboo now. Princes weren’t scared, not like this. Princes didn’t get that squirmy want-to-hide feeling in their guts when all they were looking at was a crowd of people. Especially since Captain Rho and the guards were between his family and the crowd the whole time.</p><p>But. They had been angry. Really, really angry. Not just the kind of anger that made Dad’s jaw clench or Mama’s brows draw down, but shouting, almost screaming, as if they were moments from surging forward to knock everyone down. As if they were just waiting for his family to fall.</p><p>There was supposed to be a parade, and they were supposed to be in it, but instead they’d just come out onto the Palace’s terrace to see the snarling crowd, and then gone back inside. Just before the doors had closed, Ben thought he’d heard a loud, sizzling <em> crack, </em>like something hard striking a plasma shield, or an electrostaff hitting somebody’s head.</p><p>It was really quiet in the Palace right now. Uncle Kes and Poe were away, and Ben didn’t know where. Uncle Luke was in the library, but the library droids wouldn’t tell him why. Uncle Chewie was in the comm room and Ben wasn’t allowed in. Mama and Grandmama and Dad had been shut away with Captain Rho and Aunt Shara and the advisors all day. He could hear raised voices through the doors, but Mama’s <em> and </em> Grandmama’s Handmaidens were stationed outside, Alana <em> and </em> Mina <em> and </em> Dormé <em> and </em>Hollé, and none of them would budge one step away.</p><p>He couldn’t even find Threepio or Artoo. It was like he was all by himself in a maze he only thought he recognized.</p><p>The kitchens had people, at least, but they always did. Orla was busy with lunch in one corner of the kitchen, but nobody else was nearby. Good, maybe Ari wasn’t there today either. Ben checked the cooling counter, and grinned. The baking was done for the day, and there were muja biscuits again. Grandmama always asked for them, and Orla made the best ones. Ben liked them too, so he could mostly forgive Orla for being Ari’s mama. Mostly. Ben checked cautiously around the edge of the kitchen counter, just in case thinking Ari’s name actually did summon him. It was something he kept trying to prove wasn’t true, but Ari kept making it difficult.</p><p>The coast looked clear. Ben snagged a still-warm biscuit from the tray, then another two in case he got hungry later. Maybe another two after that. Or four.</p><p>“Nice try.”</p><p>Ben dropped the last biscuit he’d grabbed and bolted, but not fast enough. A skinny hand snagged his shirt and reeled him back in, disregarding his struggles and loud objections.</p><p>“Put ‘em back,” Ari ordered, staring unimpressedly down at Ben from his stupid fifteen-year-old height. “It’s almost lunch, I’m not getting yelled at by Her Majesty for spoiling your appetite.”</p><p>“I’m a Prince,” Ben pointed out, only a little loud. Mama wouldn’t be out for hours, probably, but she still wouldn’t let him get extra biscuits. “I could order you.”</p><p>Ari’s nose tilted into the air, as if showing that he could be a lot more Princely than some biscuit-stealing little kid. “No you can’t, so don’t try it. Now drop ‘em or I’m calling Ma.”</p><p>Mutinously, Ben obeyed. The cookies tumbled out of his hands, shattering dully on the tile floor. Ari’s nostrils flared, his eyes widening in clear fury. Ben couldn’t help his grin.</p><p>“He did what you said,” Orla pointed out, making both boys turn guiltily toward her. “Can’t fault him for that.” The quirk of her mouth said she wasn’t mad, but the set of her brows said she wasn’t happy, either.</p><p>“He <em> wasted </em> them,” Ari said, his tone implying that this was a hanging offense. “For <em> no reason.” </em></p><p>“I wasn’t going to eat them <em> all, </em> ” Ben half yelled. “You didn’t have to <em> grab me--” </em></p><p>“Stop it, the both of you.” Orla pinched the bridge of her nose, her blonde ponytail sliding over her shoulder. “It’s not the end of the world, Ari, go feed them to the pigeons, there’ll still be plenty. Your Highness, lunch will be ready in a little while. There’s no need to sneak food. I’ll make sure to get it quickly to your room.”</p><p>Ari’s nose did the little scrunchy thing it always did when he really wanted to argue, but he let go of Ben’s collar with a huff and bent to pick up the biscuit crumbs. Ben hesitated; experience said he ought to run now, but he looked up at Orla, who quirked an eyebrow at him. She had her arms folded all bosslike, but she was also leaning on the counter, left hip braced to take the weight off her leg. She only did that when it was hurting; he could feel the background ache like faint, wearily wafting steam around her. Dad got like that with his arm sometimes.</p><p>Dropping his eyes, Ben bent down to help Ari clean up. Ari seemed determined not to look at him, but he accepted the crumbs Ben had collected without a word.</p><p>“Um.” Ben hovered around the counter when Orla turned back to the lunch, looking out at the empty doorway. “I could. Eat lunch here. It’d be faster?”</p><p>Orla glanced sidelong at him, already back to checking a pan of sauce. The corners of her mouth tilted up after a while, though it seemed like a sadder expression than it should have been, and she nodded toward a chair in the corner. “You can sit there, Your Highness. Don’t trip the droids up, there’s hot things. I’ll make you a tray when it’s ready.”</p><p>Ben scooted over to the offered chair and hopped up into it before she could change her mind. He could sit for a little while. It was warmer in here, and it didn’t echo the way the halls did.</p><p>Ari looked at him askance when he came back in from feeding the birds, but Orla gave him a Look and a paring knife and told him to chop, so Ari just tossed his ginger hair out of his face and attacked the fruits he’d been handed like they had personally offended him.</p><p>There wasn’t a lot of talking, but at least there were people, and it wasn’t completely boring. Orla knew what needed attention before the kitchen droids could even tell her what was happening, and she moved around the kitchen like she was dancing in a ballroom, bad leg or no. Ari eventually forgave the fruit he was slicing, and that was graceful too, a rhythm like the cadence of Grandmama’s voice as she read to him. Ben tucked his legs up to his chin and watched, and he didn’t really mean to fall asleep but it had been a very long morning.</p><p>Soft voices woke him, but he didn’t realize what they were at first; when he did, he kept his eyes closed and his head still.</p><p>“--spoiled enough without <em> us </em> giving him whatever he wants too.”</p><p>“First, it’s not that simple with royalty and you know it. Second, he’s <em> ten, </em>Ari. He’s not going to think about things the same way you do. He helped you clean up, which is more than I’d expect from some of the other younglings around here.”</p><p>“Oh, well, let’s give him a medal, then.”</p><p>“Enough with you.” Orla’s voice dipped lower, meaningful. “He had a hard day yesterday, and it’s not looking to get any easier.”</p><p>Ari didn’t say anything, and Ben couldn’t quite say what his face must have looked like, but he thought he caught a faint edge of stomach-twisting discomfort, and a little fear. For a while both he and Orla were silent. Then Ari murmured, “Ma, if it gets--”</p><p>“We talked about this,” Orla said, brisk but somehow hard-edged, brittle. “We’ll stick to the plan and we’ll be all right. Long as we avoid everyone, they won’t come looking for us. We’re not who they’ll be wanting.”</p><p>“But if it happens too fast, or if you’re not there--”</p><p>“Then you <em> run.” </em> Ben couldn’t quite keep from flinching at that tone. “You run, and you get as far away as possible. The plan doesn’t change. Armitage, look at me.” Ari made a small sound, and Ben couldn’t help it; he could feel the ache in Ari’s chest like it was his own. He cracked one eye open, risking a look. Orla had Ari’s face in her hands, protective and urgent, and Ari looked <em> scared. </em></p><p>“It will be all right,” Orla said, softer, more gently, stroking a lock of Ari’s copper hair back behind his ear. “We’ve planned for something like this. You know what to do. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you, love. I promise.” She let go of his face with a last caress, and turned back to setting up the tray in front of her. Ben closed his eye again, not knowing what else to do.</p><p>He heard the faint chime of dishes and cutlery, and then Orla’s voice, much closer, much lighter. “Are you awake, Your Highness?”</p><p>Ben did a hopefully effective impression of blinking himself awake, and didn’t have to fake the way his face brightened when he saw everything on the tray Orla was holding. There were three muja biscuits instead of the usual two. “Yes please.”</p><p>“All right, move your legs.” She settled it across his lap, making sure it was secure, then left him to it, helping Ari assemble the rest of the trays.</p><p>He left one muja biscuit until last, so he could have it while he went back to check whether the grown-ups had let themselves out yet. He really wanted to see Mama and Dad right now.</p><p>They’d tell him it was all going to be okay, like Orla did to Ari. Things were scary right now, but everything was going to be okay.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content:</p><p>Ben remembers a scene where the Amidala family is faced with an angry crowd, and are ushered back inside as a safety measure. There is implied police and crowd violence that unnerves Ben.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Part 1: Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>...Yeah. Content warnings, guys. Nonspecific violence, crowd violence, peril to small children and also everyone else, firearms, Force bullshit. Summary in the end notes. There are spoilers.</p><p>This chapter was a rough one for me, given... the world situation at large, I guess. Watching the train scene in Anastasia didn't help. Or did, I guess?</p><p>Thanks once again to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ajaxthegreat/pseuds/Ajaxthegreat">Ajaxthegreat</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf">Arya_Greenleaf</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/El_Bell/pseuds/EllaBesmirched">EllaBesmirched</a>, and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/youdidnotseeme/pseuds/youdidnotseeme">youdidnotseeme</a> for their assistance and yelling.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There was fire outside, flickering in the grand windows. It was almost like harvestlight, except that Padmé had seen the explosions that started the flames. She knew what was coming, and how it would end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chewbacca had been the one to bang on her door, nearly breaking it down with his massive fist; Rho was with him, their eyes grim above their respirator.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“They’re here,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>was all they had to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no time to gather anything but the barest essentials; she’d packed a travel bag months ago, after a decade of not feeling the need, grappling with her own paranoia and pragmatism. There wasn’t much to it, mostly just important documents, a few family heirlooms, credits, a little jewelry for trading, a couple of clothing changes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If you have it ready then you won’t need it, </span>
  </em>
  <span>her father had always told her. She’d held out the foolish hope that preparing an escape route would protect her from this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hadn’t taken very long at all, in the end. Less than a week before the mob was howling at her door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Handmaidens had their orders; they would split up, go with a set of guards each, to try to draw off the mob. Moteé and Hollé were visibly shaking, and there were tears on Rabé’s face as she squeezed Padmé’s hand, but every single one of them was as resolute as the day the Senate had fallen. She ached for them, her friends, her safeguards. It was very possible that she wouldn’t ever see them again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Han brought Ben, bundled into clothing like he’d been trying to shield the boy instead of dress him, carried in his arms with their bags hooked around Threepio’s hands. Ben had his face half-hidden against Han’s chest, his one visible eye wide and dark in his pale face. Han’s jaw was set, his mouth a thin, anxious line. “Leia’s with Luke and Shara in the Great Library. They’re trying to activate the lockdown there so--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If they delay much longer we’re going to have to fight our way out,” Rho cut across him, voice edged and harsh with strain. “The Palace isn’t built for extended fortification, and if we don’t evacuate we’ll have boxed ourselves in for them to find.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Han snapped, his arms tightening around Ben. A small noise escaped him, and Han loosened his grip with a soft curse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chewbacca growled, agitated enough that Padmé was only able to catch a few words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely not.” Rho was tapping rapid coded messages through their com, sharp and frantic. “You all need to stay together and </span>
  <em>
    <span>get out now. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m sending more guards to the Queen and--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t get her out of there, not til she’s done. The best thing you can do is either send half the guards over there to drag her or--</span>
  <em>
    <span>or,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Han overrode Rho as they were about to argue, “you send me and I talk her out of it. There’s too much history in that library, she’s already said she won’t let them destroy it--”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fine,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rho snapped. “Meet by the back entrance. I’m telling them you’re coming, but every second you’re still in here is one less you have to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Do not lose him,” they added to Chewbacca, who bared his teeth and replied with something distinctly rude in Shyriiwook.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give him to me,” Padmé broke in, holding her arms out for Ben. “We’ll wait for you at the back, you’ll move faster if we have him. And tell her she had better </span>
  <em>
    <span>move.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Her voice broke, but she locked eyes with Han and refused to look away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Han nodded after only a moment, setting Ben down and kneeling to look him in the eyes as well. “Stay with your Grandmama, and don’t let go,” he told him quietly, kissing his forehead after he’d nodded agreement. Ben had already latched onto Padmé’s skirts and hand, but he reached out for Han with the other with a little protesting whine. “Beni, hey, listen.” He hugged his son once, fiercely. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll be with you soon. Okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Ben’s voice was so small. Padmé squeezed his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be brave. I love you.” Han smoothed a rough hand over Ben’s hair, then pushed to his feet and set off with Chewbacca beside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go,” Rho ordered, and Padmé clasped Ben’s hand tighter in hers as they fled down the Palace halls.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben was scared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t a Prince after all, because he was scared and running and Dad had told him to be brave but he felt like crying because Dad and Mama weren’t here, and Uncle Chewie wasn’t here, and he didn’t even know where Uncle Luke and Artoo and Aunt Shara </span>
  <em>
    <span>were </span>
  </em>
  <span>and there was this ugly, grasping, creeping sensation pounding at the Palace walls, he could feel it, they were </span>
  <em>
    <span>coming--</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He stumbled and fell. Grandmama caught him before he hit his knees on the marble floor, but she wasn’t stopping either. “It’s okay, sweetheart, just keep running.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t okay. She sounded just as scared as he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There you are.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben gasped and fell again, his legs giving out beneath him. Grandmama urged him to get up, tried to tug him along, to help, but he couldn’t move.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You won’t get out that way.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>horrible, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it was sinewy and dry and curled around his mind like moldy old rope, bristling with smug anticipation, tangling him up and making his breath come in too-fast sobs, it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>in his head, in his head--</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ben!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t,” he gasped, “I can’t, I can’t, stop it, </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop it--”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There’s nowhere to run anymore. Just come to me. It will be easier on you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hands grabbed at his arms, trying to pull at him, and he fought them. They were coming, it was coming, he had to get away. He wrenched himself free and bolted, still with the dry, crackling voice laughing in his ears, only dimly hearing a resounding </span>
  <em>
    <span>crash </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the distance, like a door breaking down.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben ran, and Padmé chased after him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no plan now, it was all chaos; almost as soon as Ben had broken down in a fit just a hundred feet from the rear entrance, the roar of the mob outside had blocked their way, pounding on the doors from the outside. Rho and the guards had gone on the defensive, trying to coordinate another way out, but Han and Leia weren’t responding, and neither were the other guard contingents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now Ben was running deeper into the Palace, and she had no choice but to follow alone. She couldn’t lose sight of him too, not now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could hear people in the rooms and halls they passed, shouts and the clatter of destruction, like ants tearing apart a still-living carcass. If she stopped, they wouldn’t hesitate to tear her apart, too. In fact, they would probably relish it more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It grew quieter as Ben fled into the inner recesses of the Palace, only the sound of their harsh breathing echoing off the walls. Padmé recognized the way to the bedroom suites. They might be safe, hiding in there for a while, but there was no escape once they were barricaded there. Even blast doors weren’t going to keep the mob out forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she got to Ben’s room, gasping for breath with her travel bag nearly falling out of her nerveless hands, she almost didn’t see him. He had curled up behind his bed, the top of his curls just barely visible from the door. When she could see more of him, he had his face buried in his knees, every inch of him trembling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Ben.” She crouched next to him, trying to coax him into raising his head. “Beni, please, look at me. Are you hurt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes were glassy when she could see them, tears on his face, not quite looking at her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s all right, sweetheart, but we need to get out. Come on, get up, please.” When she tried to pull him to his feet, though, he trembled harder and couldn’t get his legs under him. She might have been able to lift him by pure effort a few years ago, but not now, not even with panic running through her veins like an electrostaff’s shock. It was like he’d gone lifeless before her eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Please, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ben--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hands joined hers, hooking under Ben’s arms and helping her pull him up. Ben staggered, but between the two of them they were able to brace him. Padmé looked up, not sure who was here, not sure if she needed to snatch Ben away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Orla’s son, Ari, his face younger and paler than usual under his freckles and his red hair straggling in his eyes. Padmé didn’t have words. Much of the staff had left by now, either giving quiet notice or simply disappearing without a word. The fear had infected every part of her home; she didn’t know it anymore, it was so hollowed and empty. Orla and Ari had been among the few that stayed. Why?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Follow me,” Ari said, and Padmé couldn’t help her hands tightening on Ben’s shoulders. He noticed, and his lips pressed together, but he took a deep breath. “Ma wouldn’t want to leave you behind, Your Majesty. We’ve got a way out planned.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Ben whimpered, “no, no, no, no--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have to,” Ari snapped, then bit back whatever else he’d been about to say. “There’s no more time. They’ll come this way soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ben, look at me.” Padmé took Ben’s face in her hands, trying to resist the urge to shake him out of whatever had him in its grip. “Please trust me. I’m here. We need to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben shook his head, the motion spasmic. “He’s out there, he’s waiting, I can’t--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’ll be in </span>
  <em>
    <span>here </span>
  </em>
  <span>if we don’t go.” Ari was trying not to yell, and not succeeding. Padmé couldn’t blame him for it; she felt like screaming herself. If they couldn’t break Ben’s catatonia, they were all going to die here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes caught on worn gilt, bright colors. The book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She snatched it up, pressed it into Ben’s hands. He blinked up at her, then down at it. Ari looked at her like she’d lost her mind. She ignored him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remember the story,” she told Ben, working to keep her voice steady. “Remember that it hurt, but she trusted him. And they got out. They got free. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Trust me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Hold on tight and don’t let go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben looked at her, his fingers slowly curling around the book, and something eased in her chest when he seemed to recognize her again. He sniffled, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and whispered, “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My Ben. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She took his hand, tight and trembling, and nodded to Ari.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They went as silently as they could, Ari leading them through narrow servants’ passageways, until they reached a wall that Padmé could have </span>
  <em>
    <span>sworn </span>
  </em>
  <span>was solid, and Ari pressed something to the side of it and it opened up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This definitely wasn’t on the list of palace secrets that she knew. She resolved to find out more about this hidden door if--</span>
  <em>
    <span>when </span>
  </em>
  <span>they were safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Orla was waiting for them on the other side, in a small kitchen storeroom. Her green eyes widened at the sight of them, but she didn’t react much more than that, instead looking at her son. “Did anyone see you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably not, but hard to say.” Ari’s voice was terse, his accent stronger than usual. So was Orla’s, come to think of it. Padmé had known they were refugees when she took them on, but Orla had been very careful to keep a broader, more general Outer Mid-Rim accent in all the years she’d worked in the Palace. This was different. It sounded much, much further out. Possibly far enough out to be an Imperial remnant. It would have been, and still was, dangerous to sound like a Rimmer this far Mid-Rim--especially if their flight was driven by more than just escape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Padmé considered this carefully, watching Orla as she rifled through an old satchel. Then, just as carefully, she decided to trust them. There wasn’t much hope for either Ben or herself, otherwise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here. Ari, help His Highness with this.” Orla handed Ari a shirt, large enough to be a tunic on Ben, completely unlike anything a Prince would wear. Ben eyed it uncertainly, but let Ari pull his arms through the garment. He looked like a little rag doll in it, sleeves dangling over his fingertips and eyes too big and dark in his pinched, pale face. Orla produced a shawl, thin but decently woven, and held it out to Padmé.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes drifted down to the bag, noticing how much thinner it looked after taking out just those two items. “I can’t take so much from you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t get two steps out looking like that.” Orla’s hand didn’t waver, nor did her gaze. After a moment, Padmé accepted the bundled shawl, draping it over her head and shoulders. It was big enough to disguise most of her, if no one was looking too closely. She hesitated, then pulled a robe out of her bag. It was delicate Cyrene silk, hardly practical for kitchen work, but the price it could fetch would buy much more than two pieces of clothing. Orla looked for a moment as though she might refuse, but glanced at Ari first, and took it anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” she said instead. “Quiet, though. This next part is tricky.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last time Padmé had snuck through the Palace as if it were enemy territory had been to break the Trade Federation’s blockade. How was it that she had been able to call those memories exciting, when the only thing she felt now was dread?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By far the worst thing was when the four of them had to hide until splinter cells of rioters passed them by. Padmé caught a glimpse of a few of them. They looked like ordinary citizens: no uniform, no hard-shelled gaze, often not even well-armed. They looked like people you would see in an office, or a market, or a school. Her people.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And they had come to kill her family.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Orla and Ari didn’t make a sound the entire time, practically seeming to communicate telepathically about which paths would be the safest and easiest to take. They shepherded Padmé and Ben around to a far corner of the Palace, and Padmé felt like collapsing when Orla pulled a rug away from a trapdoor in one of the parlors. She knew this one, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They froze when voices echoed in the halls, too close. Ari, already helping Ben down into the tunnel, cursed and reached up to Padmé. “Hurry!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Padmé all but jumped in, but Orla looked back at the approaching sounds, lips pressed thin, then began to close the trapdoor above them. Ari hissed a strangled protest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If they see it’s been disturbed they’ll chase us,” Orla hissed back. “I have another route. Don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>argue,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ari, </span>
  <em>
    <span>go!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Ari said desperately, but she was already letting the door fall shut. Padmé had to grab his arms to keep him from trying to push it up again. The sound of the rug </span>
  <em>
    <span>thump</span>
  </em>
  <span>ing heavily back over the trapdoor made him flinch, and they all froze as Orla’s light, off-cadence footsteps ran from the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were exclamations and other steps, running above them. Mercifully, there were no other sounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ari was shaking. Padmé slowly let go of him. “She knows this Palace better than I do,” she admitted, “your mother. You both do.” It was as cold a comfort as she’d ever had to give, but Padmé couldn’t quite bring herself to think about how likely it was that Orla had just sacrificed herself for them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t see Ari’s face in the dark tunnel, but the shuddering breath he drew sounded so young. He was barely fifteen, wasn’t he? For all that he looked almost grown, he wasn’t all that much older than Ben. She hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder, not knowing what to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually he said, voice cracking, “She’s smart. She’s got another route, like she said. We’ll stick to the plan and meet her at the end.” Padmé heard him rustling in the satchel, and then a lightstick snapped to life, illuminating Ari’s drawn face and Ben’s huge eyes from where he was pressed against the tunnel wall. “Come on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There wasn’t really any other option. Padmé picked up her own bag, took Ben’s hand again, and followed Ari down the tunnel. No one said much of anything along the way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tunnel let out in the gardens. It had originally been intended to allow them access to the hangar, but one of the bombs that had gone off had demolished the building, so it was unlikely that anything was functional enough to help. It was close to the edge of the grounds, though, so with any luck they could escape into Theed city proper and eventually find a transport leaving the planet. Rho had a few safehouses set up in the city; one of them might still be functional. That would give them a place to wait for the others, or communicate with the other hideouts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somebody had to have survived. They had to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ari checked to make sure all was clear before he helped them out of the tunnel at the other end. In the distance, the occasional shout or smash of a window floated in the night air. Ben flinched every time, clutching Padmé’s hand tighter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Halfway around the gutted hangar, as they ducked to avoid notice by a distant group of searchers, Ben’s breath hitched and he began to cry. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed, burying his face in Padmé’s shoulder, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, he’s coming, I’m sorry--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ben, shh, what is it?” Padmé tried unsuccessfully to soothe him, hardly able to make out what he was saying. “Sweetheart, we still need to be quiet, what did you see?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re going to hear him,” Ari warned with gritted teeth, craning his neck to check their surroundings again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He knows,” Ben choked. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who knows? What does he know?” Padmé tried to ignore the pounding pulse in her ears, the dread creeping along her spine. He sounded like he could see something she didn’t, like he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>sense </span>
  </em>
  <span>what was coming, he sounded like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Anakin--</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“This way! He says this way!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Padmé froze, looking at Ari in terror. Those voices were headed straight for them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ari had gone white. He pulled Ben away from Padmé, hitching him into his arms like a doll, and ran. Padmé ran with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no doubt that they’d been found now, but the blown-out part of the wall was just within reach, and beyond it was Theed, with its millions of people, where they might be able to hide, to escape, if they could just reach it--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaster shots seared past them, and for a crazy moment Padmé cursed her earlier determination to not resort to violence against her people. She was being hunted like a game animal out of her </span>
  <em>
    <span>own home</span>
  </em>
  <span>, they were </span>
  <em>
    <span>shooting </span>
  </em>
  <span>at her, at her </span>
  <em>
    <span>grandson, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and for just one moment she wanted to turn around and </span>
  <em>
    <span>scream </span>
  </em>
  <span>at them, she wanted a blaster in her hands, she wanted these </span>
  <em>
    <span>bastards </span>
  </em>
  <span>to know exactly who they were dealing with--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ari lowered Ben over the lip of the crumbled wall, nearly swinging Padmé over the edge as he pulled her out of the line of fire. Ben shrieked, his book tumbling out of his grip as they skidded down the pile of rubble, but Padmé had his hand locked in hers and didn’t dare let go. The shooters were close, much too close, and if they didn’t get to cover before the attackers reached the wall then they would be easy targets from that height--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A shot dug into the stones at Ari’s feet, caving them in; he stumbled with a shout, fell. Padmé almost turned around, but he was getting to his feet, screaming at her to keep running. She ran. The buildings were just ahead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More shots splintered the stone around them as they reached cover, and she ran without looking back. It was all alleyways and back roads now, both of them scrambling around speeders and refuse bins. She couldn’t worry about the few people they ran past now; the only thing to do was to get far enough away, get somewhere hidden, make sure they’d lost their pursuers. Then they could reorient, find their way to a safehouse, find out who was still alive…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somewhere in the scramble they’d lost Ari. She couldn’t even call out to try to find him. She silently begged whatever power could possibly help that he was still alive too. She hadn’t even been able to thank him. She hadn’t been able to thank Orla. She hadn’t been able to say goodbye to Leia, to Luke, to Rho, to any of them--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She squeezed Ben’s hand tighter in hers and kept running. There was nothing else to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually Ben couldn’t run anymore, and Padmé tucked the two of them behind an old industrial condenser, trying to control her breathing and listen for pursuit at the same time. Even at this time of night, the city had its sounds, and she couldn’t help tensing at every vague suggestion of someone drawing near. No one approached, though; no one even seemed to see them. For the moment, they were anonymous. They were safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Padmé took a deep breath, stroked Ben’s hair as he huddled against her, and let the tired trembling in her limbs settle into nothing. Then she gently helped Ben to his feet and stepped out onto the street, keeping the shawl close around her face. For the moment, she was just another grandmother. Just a woman looking for rest in a city that still, despite all evidence, somehow seemed like hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reoriented herself as they walked, keeping a steady pace and avoiding people as subtlely as possible. Rho had cautioned against bringing holonet devices that could be tracked, so she didn’t have a city map, and the possibility of missing a location, of getting caught because of it, made her stomach twist in anxiety. Still, she had known Theed for more than forty years. She may not have walked its streets every day of her life, but there were more than enough memories here to keep her on the right path. Rho had made them all memorize the addresses of each safehouse; hopefully it would be enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My feet hurt,” Ben said quietly, after they’d made their way toward a stiller part of the city over the course of an hour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, sweetheart. We’re almost there.” Her feet hurt, too. Everywhere hurt. She could barely breathe for how much she hurt, body, mind, and spirit. She was surprised poor Ben was still walking. Then again, neither of them had much choice. At least the nearest safehouse wasn’t too much further. Hopefully they could find an unobtrusive way to get in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fire service lights painted in garish rhythm over the last street as she turned down it, and Padmé’s breath caught in her throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The building was no longer aflame, but emergency response droids and medics were all around it, picking over the remains of the wreck and triaging the injured. Two sections were completely destroyed, and half of another was carved out like a rotten melon, still smoldering. The street was cordoned off, city guard shouting at bystanders to keep back, and nothing was getting through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Padmé’s eyes traced the address numerals as they continued down the street, dreading the result. She couldn’t make out the numbers of the half-gutted section, but she didn’t need to. The bombed-out building matched the address Rho had given her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, as if this were no more devastating to her than to any other bystander, Padmé turned and led Ben back up the street, and over to the next, and past that, her steps taken automatically. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They knew. They knew we’d go there.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grandmama?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s going to be a little longer, Beni, I’m sorry.” Her voice was remarkably steady, for how panic-blank her thoughts felt. Ben was tugging at her hand, resisting, a little whine starting at the back of his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grandmama, I'm </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, Ben.” If one safehouse was compromised, was it even worth going to the others? What if the next one looked safe, but turned out to be a trap? What if--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Grandmama--”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ben, stop it.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It came out too sharp, too vehement, and she knew it immediately. Ben went instantly silent, his eyes wide and betrayed before he ducked his head. Padmé closed her eyes against the guilt blooming in her chest, and kept moving. They needed to find some place to rest, or there was no way they'd make it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After some debate, she steered them toward an all-night diner, the kind of place Han might have taken Leia when they were both much younger and thought ducking their responsibilities to eat at a greasy spoon was fun. The kind of place where you wouldn't expect to find a queen. There were cameras, but cheap ones, the kind that didn't auto-recognize faces. The droid behind the bar looked like it was the only employee here. It would have to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She asked for caf and a hot xoco when the droid came to take their orders, but just to give it something to do that wasn't hovering over them trying to be of service. Ben didn't look up as the droid came and went. He barely looked at the steaming xoco, which was unheard of. The dollop of blue whipped cream that topped it was sad and half-melted, but it smelled all right. Padmé wrapped her chilled hands around her mug of caf and watched him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm sorry I snapped at you,” she said quietly, after they'd sat in silence for a few minutes. Ben's head was starting to droop toward the table; it lifted a little, startled, at her voice. “I know this is hard. You're doing so well, but I need you to trust me a little longer. It's going to be a long day, but we'll get through it. Can you do that for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben stayed quiet for a moment. Then he whispered, “Where're Mama and Dad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Padmé took a measured breath to keep the tears pricking at her eyes from falling. “I don't know, sweetheart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Ben's head lowered again, but not before Padmé saw his lip start to quiver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was too much. She slid over the bench seat toward him, wrapping him up in a too-tight hug. He broke near-silently, burying his face against her dress and trembling with sobs that grew louder with each gasp. Her own tears soaked his hair, both their muffled crying shaking her like caught prey, sharp and merciless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Too much. Too much to have run, to be unsafe still, to not know what had become of the others, of her family. Ben might be all she had left, and if they weren’t able to get off the planet…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Padmé swallowed down more tears, closing her eyes, trying to center. There was still so much to do. Rho’s tactic had been the safehouses, but hers had been the backup plan. Perhaps she had few friends on her own world right now, but there were others that might be more welcoming. Ordinarily a message would be prudent, but at this point she couldn’t be sure how much more time they had before luck ran out and someone identified them. It was better to find transport first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered into Ben’s hair, her voice still a little thick from crying. “We’ve kept together, so your Mama and Dad might have, too. And they had Luke and Chewbacca, and your Aunt Shara, so--” she couldn’t lie to him, she couldn’t bear it, but she had to give him hope. She had to give them both hope, or there was very real danger that she could collapse just from thinking too hard about it. “--so they might have been able to, to force their way out. The houses aren’t… safe, so we’ll meet them somewhere else. Okay? We just need to get to the spaceport.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben sniffled, his sobs exhausted for the moment. “Where are we going?” he mumbled. His fingers were wound tightly in her scarf, and she didn’t think she’d be prying them loose any time soon. She certainly didn’t want to. Not when she could have lost him so many times tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll meet them on Alderaan,” she told him, quiet, the cadence of her speech falling into a storylike lull, as if reading beautiful passages from his book. He’d lost it, she thought with a little agonized pang, almost starting to cry again. It was an absurd thing to mourn, in the grand scheme of things, but he’d loved it so much and clutched it so tightly, and now it was gone. “In the capital, Aldera. The last time we went, you weren’t even walking. You remember Viceroy Organa, though, don’t you? He came to visit the summer before last, with the Crown Princess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Princess Winter,” Ben remembered, looking up at her. She smiled at him, and it warmed her better than the stale caf when he smiled back a little. “She taught us how to braid hair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She did. Braids are very important on Alderaan. They know hundreds of beautiful styles, and they all mean something.” She combed her fingers through Ben’s hair. “She can teach us more when we get there. You can see her, and her babies, and Queen Breha and the Viceroy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do they braid each others’ hair?” Ben’s eyes were slipping closed, and she shouldn’t let him fall asleep, they still had so long to go, but she couldn’t bring herself to interrupt the slow relaxation easing through him just yet. Let him rest a little before they had to run again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sometimes.” She brushed a kiss over his forehead. “It’s too important to trust to anyone but a loved one, though. It’s passed down through families.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you would teach it to Mama, and she would teach it to me?” His eyes were shut now, his voice blurred, going limp against her. Her fingers kept brushing tenderly over his cheek, soothing them both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sweetheart. We’ll all learn when we get there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t say anything more, his breathing already soft and even with sleep, and for a little while she let him, sipping her caf and watching lights streak by the dim windows at the front of the shop. There were so many things left to do, and she didn’t know whether she could do them, but that was to come. For now, she could give him this.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content:</p><p>The palace is invaded. Its inhabitants have planned an escape, but are divided. Leia and Luke are not with them; Han and Chewbacca leave the main group to find the others, despite the plan. Padmé and Ben set off without them.</p><p>Ben hears a frightening voice in his head demanding that he give himself up, suffers a panic attack, and runs, chased by Padmé. They leave the guards behind to implied violence at the hands of the crowd. They pass scenes of nonspecific violence and property destruction. Ben hides in his room and continues to panic; Padmé has difficulty soothing him. Ari appears and helps Padmé get Ben up, leading them to a secret passage.</p><p>During their escape there is danger that they will be discovered. Orla hides them in a secret tunnel and runs away to distract attention. She does not reappear. They attempt to sneak away from the palace, but are discovered. Ben is distressed and apologizes, implying it is his fault. They run. Several shooters fire at them and miss. Ari is separated from Padmé and Ben, and is not found. Upon approaching the planned safehouse, they discover that the building has been bombed. There are several nonspecific injuries, and Padmé snaps at Ben for fretting. She takes him to find food and apologizes. There is uncertainty about who has survived.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Part 1: Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Good news, it gets worse! <b>Major character death happens off-screen here.</b> This is the only chapter in the fic that will contain MCD, apart from later antagonist clashes. I like my happy endings too, y'all.</p>
<p>Other content: Violence, acts of piracy, peril to a child and everyone else too, acute major depression, grief, obsessive behavior, mental self-harm. Summary and spoilers in the end notes.</p>
<p>Undying thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ajaxthegreat/pseuds/Ajaxthegreat">Ajaxthegreat</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf">Arya_Greenleaf</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/El_Bell/pseuds/EllaBesmirched">EllaBesmirched</a>, and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/youdidnotseeme/pseuds/youdidnotseeme">youdidnotseeme</a> for providing beta, support, and mental trauma gauges.</p>
<p>Part 2 starts next chapter. Thanks for hanging in, folks. See you there!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was hard to rouse from that seat, but they couldn’t stay. Padmé made sure that Ben drank at least a little of the xoco, and bought a pair of thin sandwiches; it wasn’t safe to stay too long, but who knew when they’d be able to rest again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were few public transports going out to the port, so the relevant loading stops were few and far between. Padmé didn’t dare attract anyone’s attention long enough to ask, so it was a tense half-hour attempting to choose one that would get them to the correct place. She was able to sequester them both in a corner seat near the transport’s door, but the rattle of travel and the occasional random introduction of a stranger into the transport kept her tense and watchful. Ben picked up her tension and stayed close, little more than a pair of eyes peeking out from beneath her shawl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the most part, the few people on the transport at this time of night kept to themselves, barely even glancing at the quiet grandmother and child in the corner. One, though, kept looking over at them, brows drawn down. They kept checking their wrist com, too, and every subsequent check wound Padmé’s anxiety tighter and tighter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the next stop, she stood and led Ben off the transport. It took all the control she had not to let her stride quicken, or even to keep from looking back over her shoulder before the transport had left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No one appeared to be following them. She allowed herself to relax minutely. Paranoia would exhaust her faster than almost anything else, she thought ruefully, but did it really count when they were actually out to get her? Better to be cautious now, and keep Ben and herself safe. They could relax when they reached Bail and Breha on Alderaan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fortunately, the stop they’d taken was only a few before their destination. It wasn’t far to walk at all. That left the next part, which could be trickier: finding an appropriate shuttle. Private passage might not require them to identify themselves, given enough payment, but if someone recognized them anyway then the risk of betrayal was high. Public transport would be personally safer, but would require an ID chip for both of them--and she didn’t have Ben’s. The one in her bag was an old forged copy, updated sparsely since the wars before; it might not even work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was possible, with the large groups of people she could see herding anxiously on to the larger ships, that they could hide in the crowds and get away like that. But it was risky. And if the captain found out they were stowaways, and made any stops between here and the Core, then there was no telling where they'd end up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Someone looked at her oddly as she walked. She fought the urge to cover her face more securely, and only hurried Ben along.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A larger private ship on the far end of the spaceport was taking on passengers for the Core, the crew businesslike and seemingly incurious. It was a high price for the journey, but the boarding passengers weren’t being asked for their ID chips; instead, a droid was briefly scanning faces, the better to compare with posted arrest warrants. Names weren’t necessary. It was by no means an official level of security; the general purpose of it was to either deter, chase off, or capture escaping criminals who might endanger the ship’s profits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Padmé chewed on her lip for a moment. Had the insurgents already put a warrant out for their arrest? Did she dare risk it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ben pressed closer to her legs, looking fixedly over his shoulder. When she looked to see what he was staring at, a pair of rough-looking individuals stared back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They made no move to follow, but Padmé still quickened her stride. They were running out of options, and this ship was the best of a poor lot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She kept back a sigh of relief when the droid scanned both of them without so much as an errant beep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bunk for their journey was little more than a corner ledge with a pallet, nothing more than a thin curtain for privacy; there were three others just like it to round out the space. The ‘fresher was shared between four berths of four bunks each, and cold, portable meals were handed out in the narrow galley.  Padmé had never felt so claustrophobic in her life, including that time when she and Satine had been packed into a closet. Ben wriggled and shifted against her, but didn’t say a word, mostly hiding behind her when other people came near.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once the ship was firmly on course, Padmé breathed a little easier. The old Kalinda route would likely have been faster, but easier to track, with all the stops that such ships usually made along the smaller trade routes. Carving a path directly to the Hydian Way would take longer, but was less likely to create questions about their presence. Once they reached the shipping lane, it would be a couple of days at most to the Core. The captain was making for Brentaal, and Alderaan was only hours beyond that by most shuttles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Padmé plotted out their route to Ben in soft tones on old star maps in the hold, in small out-of-the-way corners in the few days that it took to reach the Hydian. She made sure he knew where they were going, how long it would be, what to do if he couldn’t find her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>If you have it then you won’t need it. If you have it then you won’t need it. If you have it…)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>On the third day, Padmé woke up to explosions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It was a dream, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought wildly at first, </span>
  <em>
    <span>it was a dream, it didn’t happen, we didn’t get separated, there’s still time but we have to run--</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ben clutched at her as he woke, whining a little in half-sleep, and she came back to the ship, and the pallet, and the realization that this was different. This was new.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were being attacked. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The ship </span>
  </em>
  <span>was being attacked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rolled out of bed, scrambling for her shawl and for Ben. His little face was white, his eyes huge; he knew what was going on, and she ached. There was no time, though. There was no room to do anything but run.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were so few options on a ship, so few directions to go. There were hiding places, certainly, but if the attackers decided to scuttle the ship--no. The best place would be the escape pods. Padmé gripped Ben tighter and ran.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other passengers were milling in the narrow breezeways, confused and shouting; only a few moved with any purpose. Nobody knew what was going on. There were frantic questions about pirates, insurgents, an enemy military; in the end, it didn’t really matter. Padmé burrowed through the crowd as best she could, the bag slung across her back with a makeshift strap, keeping Ben close with both hands. The escape pods were marked toward the aft of the ship; she could only hope that the invaders didn’t get there too quickly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ben flinched audibly with every rocking blast against the hull, and Padmé’s grip on his hand and his shoulder had to be painful. He didn’t complain. She didn’t stop. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just a little further. Just a little further.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Distantly, someone screamed. Then many people screamed. Padmé went faster.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This end of the ship was largely for crew, and fortunately most of them were at the foredeck, either with the passengers or the captain. Padmé was able to find the pods with no more than a few false turns, and the control panel was mercifully single-pod rather than releasing them a whole raft at a time. She bundled Ben into the pod, her hands shaking as she fastened the unfamiliar safety harness around him, double-checked the controls, prayed that the pods were kept well, that she wouldn’t be sending them from one death to another.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Grandmama?” Ben’s voice rose uncertainly as she darted out of the pod for the last panel check.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just a moment, sweetheart. Almost done.” Stars, her voice was shaking, she couldn’t stop </span>
  <em>
    <span>shaking, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but it was almost done, almost--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An arm snaked around her throat, choked her. Dragged her back. There was hissing in her ear: “Hego Damask bids you goodbye, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Your Majesty.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She could hear Ben screaming.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No. NO.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Padmé lashed out hard with both feet, shoving against the wall. It was enough to surprise her assailant, enough to stagger them back and collide with the opposite pod door. She kept kicking, tucking her chin, making it as hard to hold her as possible.  The pod was primed, ready to release. She just had to get in, had to get free. Had to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The insurgent was big, strong. She was only just too slender for them to really choke, at least this way. If they got their hands around her neck she’d lose. She clawed, bit, thrashed like a wild animal. There was so much noise, too much, someone was going to hear the cursing, the gasping, Ben’s desperate screams…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Free. She slipped out from under the insurgent’s arms, struck out as much as she could, savagely counting the grunts of pain she heard. Almost. Almost there. She hit the launch start key, darting through the door--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A hand seized her hair, dragged her back as she screamed. Her fingers dug ribbons out of her attacker’s hand and arm until everything was wet with blood but it held her fast, she couldn’t get away, </span>
  <em>
    <span>she had to get away, Ben, BEN--</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something slammed into her ribs with an almighty </span>
  <em>
    <span>crash</span>
  </em>
  <span>, dragging her to the floor, and she howled in rage and agony. More hands, another person, and another. They were all around, and it was over, she was pinned, caught, no matter how she struggled and slashed, they held her down, they cursed and laughed and slapped her, the cowards, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>cowards.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then there was plasma fire, and one of them dropped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In all the shouting, she lost track of which way was up, or how many people there were, or who was firing from where. All she knew was that the grip on her suddenly slackened, and that she was desperate to struggle free of the weight that fell across her legs and body. The shouting grew louder, the shots faster, and then they</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>stopped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Padmé shoved a limp body off her legs, her movements spasmic and trembling, her breath coming faster. She could hear it now, harsh in her ears, more choked with each second she stayed pinned. There was no more time. Where was Ben? Where was…?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The body slumped across her jerked away, and she cried out, lashed out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s all right, it’s all right, hey!” Someone yanked their arm out of the way, hands out, empty. Unarmed. Padmé looked up, blinking, at a blindfolded woman in drab travel clothes and a Yinchorri man in the ship’s crew uniform. The woman had a blaster pointed down and away; the man had been the one to offer her his hands. Padmé took them after a moment, noting distantly that she was still shaking. That she hadn’t been able to stop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something was wrong. She looked around as he helped her to her feet, vaguely noting the plasma burns, the dropped weapons, the blood. There had been a knife. Had she noticed a knife? When had she gotten so much blood on her hands?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes found the pod door, stayed there. It was closed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ben.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lurched toward the door, nearly tripping, nearly falling to the floor all over again, but she reached it, clutched at it, one hand trying to yank it open.</span>
</p>
<p><span>And then she started screaming, and couldn’t stop, because the door was closed and the bay was empty and the pod was </span><em><span>gone, it was</span></em> <em><span>gone, Ben was gone--</span></em></p>
<p>
  <span>She screamed and pounded at the door, at the blank space where Ben had been, shaking off the hands that tried to console her, to keep her from breaking her bones and fingernails against the unforgiving barrier. She sobbed and scratched and begged, </span>
  <em>
    <span>begged </span>
  </em>
  <span>for Ben to come back, called his name again and again and again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was nothing. Ben was gone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They knew who she was by now. They had to. Padmé could see it in the way they looked at her, in the cautious, nearly frightened deference they all showed whenever they came near. She didn’t care. They’d had their chance to betray her when the insurgents had attacked the ship. They had saved her instead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wished she could be grateful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There had been enough resistance in the transport to fight off the smaller insurgent vessel, but not enough to risk going after a single escape pod while their attackers still had weapons and the means to use them. The pod had already disappeared from sight, and the ship’s tracker only had a limited range; there was no telling where it could have gone by the time they shook free. The Hydian Way was only an hour distant, and hyperspace would keep them all safe. The captain made the call.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Padmé stayed in her berth for the remainder of the voyage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>People came by every so often, mostly to look at her. She didn’t look at them. A few brought food at mealtimes. Enough was left of her that she could thank them, but not always enough that she could bring herself to eat. The blindfolded woman--Ch’zeyoi, was that her name? Chiyana? It would have embarrassed her to forget, if she had been more aware--stationed herself by Padmé’s pallet, distant enough for privacy but near enough that she could sense anyone who approached. The lack of vision did not appear to be a problem. Under other circumstances, Padmé might have been more curious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t try to make conversation, for which Padmé was honestly more grateful than for the very obvious guarding.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they disembarked at Brentaal, Padmé stared around the station like a lost child, not really seeing any path forward. Her impromptu bodyguard gently took her arm and steered her toward a local shuttle, conferring with the ship’s captain on her behalf. Some distant part of Padmé’s mind thought she should be ashamed, even angry, that she’d been reduced to some feeble invalid at the first real loss, at… just because Ben…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rest of her pushed all thoughts away and watched the razorgulls on Brentaal swoop over the river.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A hand touched her arm again, and she looked over; it was her guide, watching her closely despite the binding over her eyes. The odd affectation caught some niggling memory: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Miraluka, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it said, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Force-seers. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It made Padmé wonder just how much the woman could see about her. How much she could feel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rather hoped the answer was </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was probably best not to feed anyone else’s psyche to this void.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The captain means to set down on Alderaan in about four hours,” the Miraluka woman said, indicating the ship with a tilt of her head. “There’s two stops in between, but he’ll be sure to help you out when it’s time.” She hesitated, then asked, “Is anyone meeting you there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Was there anyone left? Padmé shook her head after a moment. “There’s no one.” The hollow pit behind her breastbone yawned, threatening to crush all her distance and composure for a small, terrifying moment. She dully pushed it away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right.” More watching, as if she were some fragile, unpredictable creature, ready to fly apart in rage or despair at the slightest touch. Padmé was dimly glad that both were beyond her, if for no other reason than that she didn’t want to attract too much attention. It would be ridiculous to come this far, to lose so… to lose…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ma’am,” the Miraluka interrupted her spiraling thoughts, a little awkwardly. “If--um. They’re planning to stay in Aldera for a few hours. One of the crew could guide you to the Palace. There’s… it’s got an embassy. They can probably help you there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Palace. She could have laughed, if there had been more in her. Instead she murmured, “Thank you. I’ll manage.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was astounding, how a woman with half her face covered could still look at Padmé as if she did not particularly believe her. She nodded, though, breath sighing out her nose, and stepped back. Then, very quietly: “May the Force be with you, Your Majesty.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turned and left before Padmé could say anything more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was nothing more to do except board the ship and wait. Padmé found a seat in the corner, less visible than most, in the hopes that she wouldn’t be noticed more than she already had. Apparently she’d been fooling fewer people than she thought. She wondered if Ben might still be with her if she’d made more of an effort, if there had been something that might have hidden them better.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wondered if she had any right to reach Alderaan when she’d failed Ben like this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mercifully, somewhere between takeoff and landing she dozed off. One of the crew shook her awake, as kindly as they could. Everyone was treating her so delicately. She didn’t know what to say to assure them that she didn’t merit such treatment, and in all honesty she didn’t have the energy to argue it if she had known. She did manage to decline an escort, though it got her worried looks as she descended the ramp alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aldera’s brilliant colors made it hard to breathe for a moment, all the memories of other visits--other celebrations--thick in her mind with every step she took. She had to steel herself against the familiarity creeping in on her: the liquid blend of chatter in Core accents; the elaborate finery of the people, both rich and poor; the sweet spice of the air as she drifted further from the ships toward the city itself. In the end she blocked most of it out, focusing on the steps in front of her, the vague directions she remembered, the spires of the Palace she had to reach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No one recognized her here, not that she could see, but after the foul-up in Theed (</span>
  <em>
    <span>they had to have seen us there, it had to have been them, those watchers, they knew, they followed us) </span>
  </em>
  <span>she couldn’t convince herself to take a transit shuttle. So she walked, and barely noticed the time passing, or that her feet throbbed with every step she took before she’d gotten halfway there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Morning petitions were long over by the time she reached the Palace, but she knew from experience that special petitions would continue well after the midday break. The steps were almost a relief after so long walking on flat street stones, though she had to stop at the top for a moment. The elaborate face of the Palace was so tall, she thought idly, looking up along its delicately filigreed stone. Aldera was as intricate as its braids, all elegant heights and fantastic patterns. Not like home, with its rounded shapes and dreamlike fountains, with Theed Palace like a gently curved crown above the waterfalls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were no waterfalls in Aldera. She might not ever see one again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She might never go home again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Padmé forced herself to breathe. It was getting harder to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Queen’s secretary was gone for the moment, but the guards offered her a waiting bench and said that it wouldn’t be long before someone was ready to receive her. When they asked for her name to announce her, she hesitated. </span>
  <em>
    <span>(not safe, not safe, not safe--)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cordé Naberrie,” she said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All right, madam,” the guard said politely, no recognition in his face. “If I may take your cloak?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She paused, her hand tightening on the shawl. He noticed; his tone was almost apologetic when he informed her that no concealments were permitted near the Queen and Viceroy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” she murmured. She wondered if news of the coup had reached this far yet. She reluctantly folded her shawl and gave it to the guard. “It’s… it was a gift. Please take care of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I will, madam.” He still didn’t recognize her. It could only be a good thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t long to wait, not really, but it was long enough to think of all the things that could go wrong. What if word had reached Alderaan, she thought. What if there was a bounty on her already? What if her presence here brought hunters? What if she’d put Bail and Breha in danger just by setting foot on the planet? What if the revolution followed her here? What if--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Madam Naberrie?” The Queen’s secretary had returned. They were a cherubic young Zeltron, pleasantly smiling but a little red and puffy around the eyes. They beckoned her into the throne room, and she had no choice but to go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hadn’t seen the throne room this empty for a long time, she thought, a little inanely as the secretary announced her. She was used to her family being around her. She was used to a boisterous greeting, a glad welcome from friends. So many things she had lost, that she might never see again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Padmé!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked up at the throne automatically at the unfamiliar sound of her own name, eyes wide and startled. She knew Breha’s voice, she knew it so well, but it sounded so different, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>painful--</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>--and Breha Organa, in all her beautiful Court silks and elaborate jewelry, was off her throne, running down from the dais, in the space of the breath that it took to say Padmé’s name. Behind her, Bail was halfway risen from his own chair, handsome face pale and drawn, as if he’d seen a ghost. It wasn’t far off, Padmé reasoned, even as her own body slowed and wavered and finally, finally decided to give up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Breha caught her as she sagged to the floor, clutching her close, pressing kisses to her cheek and already shuddering with sobs. “Padmé, stars, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mija, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you’re alive, I thought--we heard--” The words were half nonsense, coherence thrown to the wayside in favor of expression. Padmé could feel Breha’s tears soaking her hair, could feel the warmth starting to break her down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She let it. She couldn’t stop it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She cried into Breha’s shoulder, her grief tearing her throat, burning her eyes, cracking her open from the inside. Dimly there was Bail’s voice, talking to the chamberlain, and it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he sounded </span>
  <em>
    <span>shattered, </span>
  </em>
  <span>as if he’d wrung himself as raw as she felt, but she was crying too hard to hear any more words. She had no room for anything else. She was done, she was gone, they were </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her world narrowed to Breha’s hands smoothing over her back, to Bail’s arms as he embraced them both, to the gaping, aching hole where her family had been, and she cried.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They told her later, after she’d cried herself to exhaustion. After she’d managed to sleep a little, and eat a little, and dress in something that hadn’t been on her for almost a week. After she’d gotten up the nerve to ask.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Official news channels on Naboo only said that there had been a coup at Theed Palace, and shown a little of the destroyed buildings. The Amidalas had been deposed, they said, bloodless and stilted, and a council of the people installed in place of the old council of advisors. Very neat, very smooth. Hardly any disruption at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was different on the holonet, of course. Images the news channels wouldn’t show had gone up almost immediately, and wildly conflicting theories raced over countless sites and message boards. Hardly anyone knew what had really happened, even people who claimed to have been there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The images were the worst.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pieces of her home, ripped apart. Some holos featured stolen items, brandished like trophies; others just captured their destruction, preserved in a loop for the apparently endless amusement of others.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had to stop one that showed the mob getting hold of Threepio, her hand over her mouth to keep from retching.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Breha turned off the com before she got too far down the tooka hole, outlining what was confirmed as gently as she could. The mob had caught up to Han, Leia, and Luke outside the Great Library. Chewbacca and Shara Bey had defended them to the last; all the guards had. There had been too many to withstand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Several of the Handmaidens had been identified, either by the mob during their frenzy or later, by the inevitable vultures picking over the site and recordings. It wasn’t clear which of the rest, if any, were still missing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Padmé’s family home had been attacked. Her older sister Sola had been taken along with her husband, imprisoned, and then executed on some pretense of conspiracy. There was no official word about their daughters, but the rumors weren’t good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kes Dameron and Poe had been attacked off-planet by a bounty hunter, but were alive at last check-in, if shaken and grieving for Shara and the others. With any luck, they’d reach Alderaan in a few days.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Some of Ben and Padmé’s escape had been witnessed, but accounts were even more varied than most, and after their flight off-planet there had been no credible information surfacing at all. There were no reports of a stranded escape pod sighted, located, or shot down; there were no images of a big-eyed boy with dark hair, alive or dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Padmé listened to it all without really processing it. If she thought about it too hard, she’d start to see them. To see Luke and Leia, her family, her </span>
  <em>
    <span>children,</span>
  </em>
  <span> surrounded by shrieking rioters, like poor Threepio had been. To hear their voices raised in panic, in cries for help. To see them be torn apart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time she really did vomit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She spent days in a space slightly to the left of reality, eating and sleeping when prompted, talking with Breha and Bail when they checked in on her. She might even have sounded convincingly human once or twice. At the moment, that was the limit of her capabilities. She had nothing left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They would tell her when there was good news. Kes and Poe had made it safely in. There was news from two of Leia’s Handmaidens, and three of Padmé’s. Mostly they had taken refuge with friends and family in other places, but Dormé was coming here. Padmé found that she wasn’t out of tears when she heard that, and even if her eyes felt raw at least these were tears of relief. At least a few of her friends had been spared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As time went by, though, it grew more and more obvious: no one had any idea what had become of Ben.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Padmé started to search the holonet more frequently. Breha had implored her not to, so she kept it surreptitious, and it gave her more than a few screaming nightmares until Bail sat her down and told her quite firmly that there were Palace slicers already devoted to scouring the holonet for news of anyone or anything related to the coup and her family, so would she please not needlessly torment herself by searching through the wreckage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She loved Bail like a brother, but it was not </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>grandchild who was missing, and she told him so. He looked injured at her, which struck her as infuriating; who would know, better than her, what to look for? Who would know </span>
  <em>
    <span>where </span>
  </em>
  <span>to look? Who would be more dedicated, more relentless, when it was she who had lost, she who had let them slip through her fingers, when it was she </span>
  <em>
    <span>who was at fault, it was her fault they had died--</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bail caught her as she burst into tears, and held and comforted her, without reservation or judgment, as he and Breha had been doing ever since she arrived. She cried like a child, and apologized for lashing out at him, for being such a burden on them, for everything. In response he had the cooks make her favorite meal, which he and Breha ate with her in her suite, and promised to speak with the slicers about working with her to search for Ben.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was helpful, talking to the slicers. They provided structure to her search, went over what they’d already determined about the route, the attack, the possible trajectories of the pod. They asked for details about what she remembered, which also gave her nightmares, but she mercilessly dredged up as many as she could. Any small thing might be instrumental in helping find Ben and bring him home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But weeks went by, and there was nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She found things to do in between her searches. She held a vigil for her family in the Palace chapel. She took walks in the Palace gardens with Breha; she attended an opera or two when there was an opening; she discussed books and fashions and blasters with Dormé; she played holochess with Crown Princess Winter and doted on her two-year-old twins. It was bittersweet to see Winter: Breha and Bail's adopted daughter looked like she could have been Leia’s sister. She was the same age; the two had been close as girls. She wondered whether they thought her cold or weak for not being able to spend more than an hour or two with the babies, or with her closest friends’ child.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ben would have loved to play with the twins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Weeks stretched into months. A year went by. Padmé searched a whole planet from pole to pole, its airspace, its shipping lanes. She looked for others nearby. The office of her suite was covered in star charts and almanac screens and every possible tool she could use to help her bring Ben home. She must look crazy, she freely admitted, staring at the barely-organized mess one midnight when the nightmares wouldn’t allow her to sleep. She might well be. It had been so long, much too long for him to have survived on his own. If he hadn’t touched down on an inhabited planet, it was completely hopeless. She was most likely torturing herself needlessly once more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes drew once again to the small holoprojector she’d set up at the corner of her desk, one of the few things she’d managed to save in the flight from Naboo. A family holo, taken after an official portrait, with Han gleefully hugging Leia from behind as she laughed on the couch, with Luke halfway through a sentence, his dimples showing as he smiled, with Chewbacca and the droids and the Damerons close around the edges, sharing in their happiness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With Ben, seated on her lap in the middle of the couch, his eyes dancing and his grin so wide she could feel the warmth even here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, she decided, seating herself in front of the holo, allowing herself for a moment to be captured by the sight of everything she loved. It wasn’t needless. She wouldn’t give up on him. She would find a way to bring him home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’ll be okay,” she whispered to him. “I promise.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content:</p>
<p>Padmé and Ben travel through Theed in disguise. There is constant expectation of exposure and threat. They board a ship, which is attacked and boarded. Padmé ushers Ben into an escape pod and attempts to launch it, but an attacker grapples with her and implies that they will kill her. She struggles violently, causing trauma and drawing blood, but is overwhelmed and pinned by multiple assailants in close quarters. An unseen person fires on her attackers, and she is buried under bodies. During the struggle, the pod containing Ben launches and is not seen again. Padmé reacts with intense verbal and physical grief at the initial discovery, then suffers deep depression and shock. She continues to travel in some dissociation with aid. She reaches Alderaan and breaks down with grief once she is safe.</p>
<p>Official news channels report sparingly on the events in Naboo. Padmé searches obsessively for further news from Naboo, particularly of Ben. She finds information on multiple deaths. Among the dead are Leia, Luke, Han, Chewbacca, and C-3P0. Graphic crowd violence and destruction is implied. Other deaths are confirmed as executions. Padmé is nauseated with distress at all this news. Bail tries to dissuade her from her searching, and she lashes out verbally in anger at him before breaking down and apologizing. He and Breha eventually supply her with information from the official search they are heading. This distresses her, but she continues. Ben is not discovered, and it is uncertain whether he survived. Padmé promises to continue her search.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Part 2: Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><i>Let's do the timeskip agaaaaaaaaaaaain</i><br/> </p><p>Meet Kylo, everybody! It's a big relief to be here. He's got a bit more space to figure things out. We're going to stick with him for a good bit of Part 2, but he's definitely going to meet some friends pretty soon.</p><p>Content: Child labor, mention of physical abuse, forced labor, malnutrition, threats.</p><p>This is the end of this posting section for the fic. Chapters will be shorter in Part 2, so I'll post more of them at a time. Tune in next time for Kylo's adventures on Naboo!</p><p>Thanks once again to my betas, particularly <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf">Arya_Greenleaf</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/youdidnotseeme/pseuds/youdidnotseeme">youdidnotseeme</a>, for their encouragement and handholding.</p><p>See you all soon!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Ten years later</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Lights on, everybody up!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A chorus of groans echoed around the room as thirty-nine scrappers of various ages and species rolled out of bed and into their clothes. Kylo, who had been up and dressed for an hour and a half, stayed on his rickety cot for a minute, contemplating the water-stained old mattress and how he’d never have to see it again. A slow grin stretched across his face, and he kicked the metal frame hard just to hear the </span>
  <em>
    <span>clang. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Desh, the Twi'lek teenager in the next bed over, jumped and shot him a dirty look; Kylo just grinned wider, flipping a full pouch of cred tokens in one hand. Desh scoffed, but grinned back after a moment, shoving his feet into his shabby boots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doors weren’t unlocked until everyone was lined up, so Kylo rolled to his feet and helped yawning, seven-year-old Teela on his left pull their sweater the rest of the way over their head. Then the lanky Rodian boy past them had a busted overall strap that needed tying, and one of the other younglings came over wanting help with their hair, and Kylo forgot for a moment the reason today was special in the habitual morning flurry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembered by the time they were all lined up across the floor, though, shoulder to shoulder like racing fathier. The moment the doors opened, Kylo surged toward the exit, long legs eating up the duracrete floor and cred tokens shoved securely into his worn leather hip satchel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today he was getting the kriff out of this place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scarfed down breakfast with the rest of the kids in the mess hall, licking greyish paste from his fingers once his plate was clean. Ten-year-old Rey plopped down next to him, her feet still dangling a few inches above the floor, already halfway through her plate of gruel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning,” Kylo singsonged at her, inspecting a hole in his coat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re too happy. It’s freaking me out,” she informed him, scraping bits of grey from her plate with a thin screeching noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s too happy? This?” He pulled a wide, leery grimace at her, eyes and mouth stretched as far as they would go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eeeew, stoooop.” She wrinkled her nose and flicked a gobbet of gruel at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t, I’m too busy being haaaaappy.” He pulled the corners of his mouth even wider with two fingers, and she shrieked and smacked his cap down over his eyes. He laughed and straightened it out again, making a show of adjusting his fingerless gloves and ratty old coat as well. “How do I look?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like you fell off a garbage scow with all the rest of us,” Rey snarked, then huffed as Kylo frowned at her, genuinely stung. “Like you’re an actual grownup who gets to leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” He nudged her with one elbow, then again when she didn’t look up the first time. “Don't be a sulk. You knew about this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She scraped her plate especially hard by way of response to that, making him grit his teeth against the metallic shriek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m coming back for you, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hey.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He tugged on the topmost bun of the three she’d done today, making her scowl and swat at him. “I’m serious. Now that I’m getting out of here, I can make some actual money of my own. You just keep saving up here, and I’ll save up out there, and we’ll get you out in no time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked down, mumbled something. Kylo tapped her gently on the head. “Can’t hear you, sandrat.” No response. This wasn’t like her. Kylo canted his head, then settled his elbows on the table and adopted a high, squeaky tone. “Gosh, thanks, Kylo, you’re my </span>
  <em>
    <span>heeeerooo. </span>
  </em>
  <span>There’s no better big brother than youuuuu. I’ll watch the stars and wait every d--ow, quit it!” He warded off her spoon jabs with mixed success; she had a mean aim when she felt like it. But she wasn’t sulking, and her eyes were bright again. He ducked his head down a little to meet her gaze, steady as he could. “So. Gonna wait?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bit her lip, then smiled up at him, a little wobbly but real. “Bet you I can earn more than you can in six months.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take that bet, you little imp.” He scruffed her hair, making her yelp and finally laugh. The five-minute bell for Besh shift rang, and they both hopped to their feet, making their way out to the foreman’s podium with the others.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Gather up,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>the foreman bellowed; his normally soft, raspy voice crackled through his vox booster. One of the coil wires was loose, Kylo gauged; an easy fix, but like hells would Torun Dal ask anybody else for help. He was the Boss when he was here, and nobody questioned the Boss. Overgrown Kaminoan bastard. Stalked around like he owned the place, when he was really just another herd-wrangler for a shitty scrapper pit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kylo didn’t have to take Dal's insults anymore, though. He had enough credits to buy his contract out and get off this nowhere planet. Then he’d get rich, buy out Rey’s contract, and they’d never have to see this place again. It was simple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, brats, got another load shipped in during Aurek shift, so no karking excuses over bad scrap,” Dal barked. Rey smothered a giggle at the whining, electronic buzz under his voice; Kylo smirked openly. “Cleaners, make sure you’re getting the contacts </span>
  <em>
    <span>clear; </span>
  </em>
  <span>pickers, don’t forget to pick up wires along with, or it’ll dock you. And if I see any of you hopping into sectors you’re not assigned to, I’ll tan your sorry little hides and use them for a raincoat, you hear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes sir, Mister Bossman Dal Sir,” Kylo drawled, prompting laughter and whispers from the rest. Dal’s pallid neck skin turned distinctly blue, an angry flush that Kylo was more than familiar with. It was easy to wind Dal up; most days Kylo didn’t try unless he was really bored. There wasn’t much Dal could do about it, either, especially in the last few years. Dal may have been eight feet tall, but he was skinny even for a Kaminoan, and Kylo had managed to fill out some in the shoulders even on the shit rations they gave all the kids. He was the oldest of everyone by at least two years, and he spent all his time hauling and cleaning scrap. Kylo knew Dal had seen him lift that crushed speeder off Desh’s leg that one time, too. It wasn’t a difficult stretch of the imagination to picture what he could do to Dal’s overlong neck with that sort of effort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If only all the foremen were that easy to cow. Kylo’s face still ached a little from the last time Plutt had objected to his sass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Didn’t matter, he reminded himself. He was out today. Even this shift was just making sure he had extra creds after the shuttle to Naboo, and to say goodbye to the kids. He wanted them to see him walking out. He wanted them to know it was possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kylo Ren,” Dal snapped, jabbing his datalist with extra belligerence, “sorting. Gar Micjaa, sorting. Niyo Vendar…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kylo sneered at him, but didn’t feel like arguing the placement. He had a lot of extra energy today; even manually hauling scrap to sort couldn’t get him down. He jogged off to the scrap piles with the rest of the assignees, checking to make sure that his cred tokens were still safe in his pouch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The morning went fast; lunch was barely sufficient, as usual, and by the time the end bell blared, Kylo was soaked to the skin with sweat and bouncing on his toes, grinning again. He jogged through cleanup, helped Teela pull a good piece of scrap out for next time, and teased a few of the littlest ones about scouring their pieces bright enough to blind him. All of them were giggly and exuberant by the time Dal called them in for token payout, and Kylo thought fondly that he was really going to miss them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His smile instantly dropped when Dal tossed him his tokens for the day. “That’s ten short.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dal snorted, tilting his slit nose up. “You eat more than the others, Ren. More food costs more creds. Besides, we’ll need to have your bed cleaned.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Banthashit,” Kylo snarled. “I cleaned out my bunk, and I ate the same yesterday and the day before that. Give me my karking creds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dal slammed one spindly hand on the counter, shoving his face into Kylo’s. The rest of the kids went silent around them, watching with uncertain eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More taken off for insubordination,” he hissed, “and for distracting the others from their tasks. Don’t think I don’t see you for what you are, Kylo Ren. You think you’re above this? You think you’re more </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserving</span>
  </em>
  <span>? You’re just some kriffing </span>
  <em>
    <span>nobody </span>
  </em>
  <span>with no past and no future, so despicable that your own parents left you here to rot, and scrambled your brains so you couldn’t find them again.”</span>
</p><p><span>Kylo’s pulse, already pounding, roared so loud in his ears that his vision greyed; there were metallic </span><em><span>pop</span></em><span>s</span> <span>on the periphery of that roar, which couldn’t be good, but he didn’t particularly care. He lunged forward, both hands gripping the counter, intent on making the bastard eat his words along with a solid helping of Kylo’s fists--and stopped short, a glowing electroprod sizzling inches from his face.</span></p><p>
  <span>“Give me a reason,” Dal rasped, his thin mouth set in a nasty grin. “I dare you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kylo stared into those smug, bulbous eyes, breath coming fast and harsh, and seriously weighed the pain of the prod against the sheer satisfaction of being able to punch Dal into the next solar system.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His grip on the counter slowly relaxed. The prod was more than capable of knocking him flat for an hour or more, and knowing Dal, he’d take </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>his tokens and Kylo would be back at square one. Not worth the risk. He was getting out of here tonight, one way or another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dal sniffed and straightened as Kylo pulled reluctantly back, narrowing his eyes. “Those are your creds, boy. Take it or leave it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kylo bared his teeth, less a smile than a warning. “Fine. Screw me over one last time. I’m cashing out anyway.” He dug his cred tokens out of their pouch, slapping them on the counter. A crushed, sparking timekeeper bounced sadly at the impact. “Twenty-two hundred for my contract. I want the rest on a credstick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You with your demands. Like the karking Prince of Naboo himself?” Dal mocked, but he begrudgingly began to count the tokens. Kylo watched him carefully, not about to let the overlong asshole cheat him any more than he already had. The rest of the group watched and chattered, for once willing to wait. There was envy on the older teens' faces, sheer awe on the younglings'. Hardly anyone earned enough to buy out their contract. Kylo was the first some had ever seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snatched the credstick out of Dal’s hand the instant he confirmed the amount on it. Dal sneered, fingering the electroprod. “All paid up. Get out, then, Ren, and good riddance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“E chu ta,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Kylo volleyed back, almost cheerfully. He was already walking toward the exit, gesturing widely with both arms. “Maybe I’ll come back and buy this whole place. I hope you like vacuum, ‘cause you’ll be eating it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dal brayed with laughter. “In a century or two. Be sure to bring along the Queen of Alderaan while you’re at it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kylo flipped both hands up in a last rude gesture, to a lot of hoots and cheers from the rest of the kids, then turned and headed for the exit with his nerves still singing like a strummed tri-harp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kylo, wait!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He paused, turning, and Rey slowed her run to a trot, stopping a few awkward paces from him. “You, um.” She shrugged. “Don’t do anything too dumb out there, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought about giving a flippant answer--</span>
  <em>
    <span>What, me?</span>
  </em>
  <span>--but she looked at him so seriously, her little face so set, that he just nodded after a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Promise,” she told him sternly, and he laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I promise I’ll be careful. Hey,” he added, “don’t forget the lessons. Hard right and uppercut, yeah? Don’t want to see you flailing all over the place like some sort of Wookiee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She made a face at him. “Who’re you calling a Wookiee, with that haircut?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nerf.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He mimed a kick at her, then laughed when she blocked it and faked a punch to his leg. She giggled, grinning up at him, and he couldn’t help a pang of regret at having to leave her behind. She’d made the last five years a lot more bearable than the five before that; it was, he imagined, what it was like to have a sister.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her smile faltered, and then she darted forward, tackling him in a surprisingly crushing hug. He staggered back with a laugh that quickly faded as she burrowed herself into his midsection with uncharacteristic silence, hiding her face in his coat. He hugged her back after a moment, trying to press all the reassurance he could into it. Nobody ever came back--nobody ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to come back--but he’d be the first, he swore. He’d come back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t die, stupid,” she mumbled into his coat. He laughed, scruffing her hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never gonna happen. Hang in there, okay? I’ll be back soon’s I can.” He lowered his voice, smirking at her. “With the Queen of Alderaan, too, just so I can see Dal’s face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed at that, shoving him. If her eyes looked a little wet, he wasn’t going to say anything. “Maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll </span>
  </em>
  <span>get out, and come find you and save you from all the Alderaan guards.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My hero.” He tweaked her nose, one last affectionate gesture, then stepped back. “Stay safe, little sandrat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You too, Wookiee.” She scrunched her face at him for the tweak, then ran back to the rest of the group. Kylo turned and walked out through the automated gate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He breathed deep on the other side, wondering why it felt so much better to breathe out here. It was the same air, the same effort, but it still seemed easier, like the atoms were all lighter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever it was, he decided, he liked it. He started walking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The scrapyard was some distance out of town, but Kylo was used to walking. He’d never had the opportunity to walk this far in a straight line, though; the novelty made it that much more interesting. He didn’t pass too many people, either, which was almost unnerving. He hadn’t been more than fifteen feet from at least one other person in ten years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wondered if it had been longer. He wondered if that blank space in his memory, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>before</span>
  </em>
  <span> that ended with him wandering in his blood and bruises until the guards had picked him up, had included a family. Presumably he hasn't sprung fully-formed out of a rock somewhere, but any clues about who had borne him--and, potentially, abandoned him--had disappeared along with all the other memories of who he'd once been. There had to have been a decent few; he’d been Rey’s age, probably--he couldn’t remember precisely when his nameday was. They hadn’t celebrated namedays at the scrapyard anyway, even for the kids who remembered theirs. He wasn’t entirely sure what one did for them, to be honest. There were rumors on the holonet that rich kids got sweets and presents for theirs, but you needed someone willing to give you things for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kylo didn’t need to worry about that anymore, though. He could get things on his own just fine. He’d bought himself free, hadn’t he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scrubby brush and dirt roads turned slowly into the occasional building, then the beginnings of civilization. He kept walking past those buildings, keeping his eyes away from the beings that eyed him as he passed. Whichever shuttle was the next one to Naboo, he wanted to be on it; anything that might keep him here longer wasn’t worth the time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bare-bones spaceport took up most of the town, which made sense; most of the money around here was in scrap or fodder farming, and all of it went somewhere else. Nobody really wanted to stay here. Naboo had a real spaceport, and ships that could do more than ferry freight or hop to the next planet over. He’d be able to go anywhere he wanted from there. Probably even to exotic Alderaan, with all its glamour and prestige. There were real chances there, real money, real ways to make it. He’d need creds to start, though. That’d be his first priority on Naboo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shuttle pass took more than half his remaining creds, but he shrugged it off--</span>
  <em>
    <span>worth it, getting out of here is so worth it</span>
  </em>
  <span>--and bought himself a flangth skewer while he waited for boarding time. It was stringy, overpriced, and overcooked, but it was a hot meal and it was the best thing he’d eaten in years. He licked his fingers clean as the ship’s crew called everyone to board.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The inside of an interplanetary shuttle was both novel and depressingly familiar. His bunkmates weren’t quite as close as they had been at the scrapyard, and there were only eight people to a berth, but it certainly wasn’t the wide-ranging independence he’d felt on the road into town. Food was included, though, and he wasn’t required to pick scrap apart for the three days they’d be traveling, so he’d take it. They even included a blanket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d never been able to do absolutely nothing, whenever he felt like it. Right now he felt like a nap--his arms were sore from hauling, and his legs even more so from walking. He didn’t have anywhere to be, anyone to answer to, or anything that would fall apart if he left it alone. It was the most relaxed he’d ever been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His clothes were literally the only thing he owned right now; there wasn’t much sense in stripping down for sleep, especially in front of strangers. Pulling the blanket up over him and settling his cap down over his eyes, he relaxed into the bunk and started counting all the things he’d be able to do once he reached Naboo. Walk where he wanted, eat what he wanted, read what he wanted, be who he wanted…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fantasizing slipped into dreams without any obvious boundaries being passed, and he remembered warmth. Arms around him, cheeks pressed against his hair, voices calling his name. It wasn’t his name, but he knew the voices. They were looking for him, echoing through warm corridors, always in the next room, and the next, and the next. They were as warm and bright as jewels, as the kaleidoscope of colors in the maze he followed. He’d find them soon. In the next room. In the next. In the next…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voices were fading; it was harder to hear them. He slowed, unsure, his limbs thick and tired, as if wading through syrup. Were the voices behind him now? He couldn’t tell. The brightness was fading.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kept moving forward, but it wasn’t as warm. If he sped up, maybe he could catch the voices. His legs wouldn’t go faster. There was a stronger voice now, but it was behind him. It wasn’t warm. It was stale, dry, like dead, weedy vines tangling around his arms, his chest, his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Where are you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it rasped, over and over. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lost boy. Lost son. Child of power. Where are you. Where are you. Where are you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content:</p><p>The scrapyard employs forced child labor, with the youngest age stated as seven years old. The children are kept in meager conditions. Physical assault and deliberate malnutrition is referenced.</p><p>Rey expresses distress and dejection at Kylo's impending departure.</p><p>Dal uses somewhat hyperbolic threats of abuse toward the children, implies that Kylo deserved to be abandoned, and threatens him with an electric prod weapon. Kylo makes threatening moves toward Dal.</p><p>Kylo has dreams that turn into nightmares of being hunted.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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